


Don't Prod the Barrier

by Seraphal



Series: On Curled Horns does Thedas Rest [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkwardness, Blood and Gore, Character Development, Dragon Age Spoilers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Old scars, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Relationship Development, Reluctant Savior, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Trust Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphal/pseuds/Seraphal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pelle is a Mercenary. She does jobs for money; she likes to drink and start fights and has the worst mouth and manners. Honestly she's the least qualified person to be dubbed the Herald of Andraste by the people of Thedas. </p><p>But it happens anyway. </p><p>With her mercenary group dead, Pelle's thrust into the world as the Herald; alone, and is forced to make decisions to protect people that didn't even know she existed before the glowing green mark appeared on her hand.</p><p>This is her story.</p><p>If you have any prompts or suggestions, let me know. I'll be doing some in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thrown into Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> All Pelle was doing was trying to make a living. She never asked for a green crack in her hand or for all of Thedas to want her head on a pike.
> 
> NOTE: Edited to make it more spaced and fixed the dialogue confusion. Thanks for bringing the issue to my attention.

Pelle was accustomed to strange looks. Having grown up in the Free Marches, she had been around humans and elves pretty much all her life. The Elves weren’t bad at all. Being another race the humans barely regarded, Pelle had no quarrel with them in the slightest. Even with that said, she didn’t have a problem with the humans as a whole exactly. It was the masses of nobles that seemed to have it in their head that they were better in every aspect. It was those that craned their heads back to look up at her in distain. It was the eyes that rested on her pale silver skin with a sneer when they saw the deep scar that slashed its way down the outer corner of her right eye. When those same eyes rested on the scar adorning the length of her throat, she could see the owners questioning her survival. Humans, as a whole, were narrow minded and cruel to things that they didn’t understand. 

They were raised to fear things like her. To them, her massive frame lined with dense muscles was something to be frightened of. The pair of deep black horns that swept back from her head only to curl under towards her jaw then out marked her as something violent and barbaric. The sharp onyx tips adorning over half of her horns only added to the visage. Her pale, almost colorless eyes were considered empty and devoid of a soul. And she was treated as such by the human race. The fact that she was not only Qunari, but a Qunari mage only sealed her fate. One could not tell this at a glance. She didn’t wear robes or carry a staff as other mages did, but when she fought, it was quite clear what she was.

After all, who had ever heard of a warrior that could conjure an invisible barrier around themselves as well as others?

As she had grown older, the combination of looks she got from her peers became accustomed to and expected. The lowered voices and hushed whispers faded until they became nothing but quiet background noise.

It was because of this conditioning that the looks the Templars gave her didn’t faze her in the slightest. Pelle ignored their hushed voices and frightened eyes as she put up her long wavy white hair into a messy bun. They were still staring at her when she finished, so she merely clasped her hands behind her back in a resting position and returned their stare with her pale irises until they grew uncomfortable enough to look down before shuffling away. Templars were always uneasy around her, though she never sought them out on purpose - they were simply everywhere. Even her own ‘brethren’ of mages gave her a wide berth; probably because of the horns. White eyelashes flicked while her eyes moved about the Conclave, taking in the current situation.

The tension in the air was almost thick enough for one to slice through it with a butter knife. Her Mercenary company had been hired to attend the Conclave as extra muscle in case things got ugly. Pelle had no doubt in her mind that things would get messy; the ever increasing hostility between mages and Templars had grown wildly out of control at this point. So bad, in fact, that she doubted even Divine Justinia could quell the bloodshed. Pelle originally wasn’t going to take the job, but the Divine had paid a ridiculous amount of royals so she had accepted despite her better judgment. 

Leave it to a large amount of money to change her mind. She had been a Mercenary much too long. Pelle took a deep breath before letting it out slowly through her nose. It was only a matter of minutes until the negotiations started and she could already feel her gut clenching up in anticipation. When she turned her head to check a nearby corner, one of her men appeared at her elbow; a thin faced elf named Denn that she had named the head of her scouts. She didn’t have many, but they were good. The elf craned his neck hard to look up at her. 

“Everything is as normal as can be expected, Adaar. Every person here looks ready to jump on one another and tear each other apart, but they seem to be able to restrain themselves at the moment.” Pelle felt her eyebrows knit together into a scowl at his words. She had discarded the name her parents had given her long ago, renaming herself Pelle. Denn caught onto is mistake immediately. “I’m sorry, Pelle. I keep forgetting-“

She lifted up one hand, palm out, and he fell into silence, his face looking tight. “It’s quite alright, Denn. Just be sure not to forget next time, hmm?” Her voice was a little unusual; smooth yet commanding and a little lower in pitch for a normal woman. Denn’s face relaxed considerably and he nodded, clearly relieved he hadn’t angered her too badly although his eyes gave away the discomfort he was experiencing from looking up at her so hard. She took pity on him.

“Back to your post. If you see anything remotely suspicious, you know what to do,” She tilted her head to the side, the black glossy metal on her curved horns catching the light.

“Yes, chief!” Denn affirmed immediately before damn near vanishing on the spot. Pelle felt herself smiling in spite of herself; damn elves were fast. When the negotiations finally started, it almost seemed that some sort of truce could be reached, although the shouting voices coming from the closed double doors were becoming more and more heated. Pelle resisted the urge to bounce on the balls of her feet as she listened to the angry but inaudible voices and forced herself to keep looking around. Surely the Divine would call on her if she needed her, yes? Seconds later the sudden sound of feet pounding on stone reached her ears and Pelle’s head snapped forward, her eyes looking down just in time to see Denn sprinting up to her, his eyes wide in shock. 

“What’s—“ She had begun to ask what was wrong, but as soon as her voice left her lips a violent blast threw her entire body back into the side of a stone staircase behind her. The last thing she saw and heard was a bright green flash and the sound of anguished screams followed by her horns smashing into stone.

~

A sharp, throbbing pain is what brought her back to her senses. One pale eye slowly opened and she let out a low, hollow groan. Her body was so heavy she feared that she wouldn’t move again. Still she tried and gathered her arms beneath her, the movement causing sharp rocks beneath her to dig painfully into her skin. Pelle sucked in a painful breath through aching lungs only to cough as she pushed against the ground to force herself onto her knees. The rocks only bit deeper into her, but that gave her even more of an incentive to get to her feet despite her protesting limbs. She winced, her eyes opening slowly due to the furious pounding in her head. What had happened? She… couldn’t remember. 

The pale Qunari made a frustrated noise as her eyes finally opened, but she did nothing else. Even her heart seemed to have stopped. She was surrounded by… nothing; she was nowhere. Darkness pressed into her from all sides, making her breathing quicken, though it provided her no extra oxygen. Far off in the distance a deep green glow could be seen, but it provided no light. She lifted a heavy hand, her fingers searching out tentatively in front of her. She didn’t quite know what she was looking for, but anything seemed better than nothing at that moment. Her hand closed on nothing but air and a cold, sickening feeling settled into her stomach.

“Well, shit.” She said to no one in particular, her voice sounding small in the massive expanse of nothing. 

As if spurred by her quiet curse, a sudden blast of light shone out from behind her, the brightness burning away the shadows that caressed her skin. Pelle yelped, her heart leaping into her throat. She whirled around only to have her wide, shocked eyes narrow into slits at the offensive light. A hand immediately shot up to shield her face from the ridiculous brightness of it all. It was like staring directly into the sun; a golden light that grew even brighter towards the middle, the center pale white and taking shape… a person? A woman? At first Pelle didn’t move. As relieved as she was to see something other than the darkness or that eerie green light, she was still unsure if checking out something strange was a good idea.

Well, it was certainly better than standing like an idiot in Maker knows where. Pelle moved forward, her legs feeling heavy but wobbly. The last time she had this much trouble walking she had been drunk off her ass. After a few minutes her steps came easier, and it hadn’t come a moment too soon. It was then that her ridiculously overloaded brain noticed that this strange glowing woman was standing on top of what looked like a blackened rocky hill. Pelle felt her mouth open a little before snapping shut.

Of course it was on a rocky hill. Obviously it was too much to ask for a possible exit on flat ground.

Feeling cranky, sore and immensely confused but ready to leave, the Qunari fought her way up the jagged hill. The sharp rocks beneath her were tricky to grab onto and in her haste to get the fuck out Pelle managed to cut her palms three times while her hands scrabbled for purchase. Halfway up the hill, a quiet yet unsettling skittering sound echoed out behind her. Pelle felt her blood go cold and she paused despite her better judgment and turned to look. In the inky blackness below her, something moved about. Something large with many arms and legs. Spiders, probably. Giant spiders. Pelle felt her eyes roll despite the cold fear that pricked at her skin. Always with the spiders. She turned and fought up the hill, knocking loose rocks on her way. Despite her situation, she hoped that those rocks landed on top of those spiders and their freaky-large heads. 

The blinding figure was kneeling down towards her, its hand extended. The sight spurned her on and Pelle scrambled up the hill, holding out her hand. She slid down on the rocks and she reached further, her muscles straining painfully as she elongated her large body towards the glowing figure. Something coarse rubbed her ankle and she inwardly cursed, her eyes nearly slits against the blinding beings fingers. Just a bit more! Her fingers were so close she could feel the heat radiating off of the light before her. It scalded her bare fingers and she sucked in a pained hiss through sharp clenched teeth. Just when she felt her fingers graze the light, a green spark arced between them, jolting her so hard that her body tensed harshly and she was once more thrown into darkness.

~

Her whole body hurt. It was an unusual kind of pain; dull and aching only to suddenly flare up as if prodded by a sadistic mage fond of shocking things. It was this sudden shock of pain that coursed up her arm that woke her. Pelle slowly opened her eyes only to close them again at the painful throbbing at the back of her eyelids. Where was she? The pain jolted her body again, accompanied by a sound of static and a flash of bright green light she could see even with closed eyes. The light startled her enough to force her eyes open despite the discomfort. Her wrists were… shackled? Pelle blinked a few times at the iron restraints holding her wrists painfully tight together. 

Her left hand looked strange; a jagged cut sat on her palm. She would have dismissed it as a battle wound, but the pain returned again and she saw what looked like green electricity crackle angrily out of the cut and the green light flashed again. What the fuck? Something slammed open ahead of her and she startled, her eyes flashing up and the strange cut forgotten momentarily. Two figures approached her, female, and royally pissed off. One of them had short, dark hair and a sharp face, the other looked much softer with her smooth face and red hair, but not at all less angry. Pelle arched an eyebrow at them, earning a sneer from the darker woman. 

Had she gone off and broken something while drunk? It wouldn’t be the first time, to be honest. Pelle had a weakness for a good strong drink after doing a crazy job. The harder or stranger the job, the stronger the drink needed to be. That didn’t explain the really weird sparking gash on her hand, though. 

“I ought to kill you now,” The dark haired woman hissed, closing in on her. Pelle tensed; she had this… thing – call it a peeve if you will – about not liking being touched in any way by anyone. 

“The Conclave is destroyed! How did you blow it apart and live yourself?!” The woman continued, rage etched plainly on her face.

This caught Pelle’s complete and undivided attention. What the hell was she going on about? She tried to remember what happened but all she could remember was that flash of blinding green light. The same kind of light that was sparking from her hand. Pelle started having a sinking suspicion that she was in some serious trouble without even knowing why. This must have shown on her face because the woman pressed further, crowding the bound Qunari’s space with her much smaller form. “Explain this,” she snarled, grabbing the shackles – much to Pelle’s relief – and holding up her hands. The mark arced angrily right on cue, the loud crackling noise echoing through the damp walls. 

Pelle tried to find her voice, but all that managed to come out was a mix of a groan and ‘uhm’. This lack of response clearly fueled the woman’s rage and she practically bellowed, her hand reaching for the sword sheathed at her hip. The redhead intervened then, pushing her lithe frame between the two of them and pushing the dark-haired woman back. 

“We need her alive, Cassandra. Killing her here will not benefit us.” Pelle felt her throat contract tightly and her stomach flipped. These two women were seriously discussing killing her directly in front of her for a reason that Pelle didn’t understand. If only she could remember! The Qunari clenched her teeth together in frustration, her tired mind trying and failing to recall how she even ended up kneeling on a dungeon stone floor to begin with. “Do you remember what happened?” The redhead was speaking to her now and Pelle let her eyes drift up to meet her face. Even though she was kneeling on the floor, she didn’t have to look up much thanks to her ridiculous size. 

“No,” The Qunari answered truthfully, thankful that her voice had finally decided to cooperate, “I’m just as confused to what’s going on…” She looked back down at her hand, which spat green sparks. “Or what this is or how it got there. All I can remember is this… flash of green light. A lot like this, only a lot brighter, and probably much bigger.” The dark-haired woman named Cassandra made a disgusted noise and turned to her companion. 

“Anything else?” The redhead said, ignoring Cassandra’s annoyed glare.

Pelle frowned, her white eyebrows knitting together. “A woman… I think. Darkness all around me. She was too bright… I don’t even know if it was even a she.” The redhead looked like she was about to ask something else but Cassandra cut her off sharply.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I’ll take the Qunari to the rift.” Once again Pelle felt her attention get snagged as if it was tied to a rope and someone was tugging on it. What the hell was a rift? Cassandra crowded her again to remove the heavy iron shackles pinning her wrists together. Pelle felt her body tense when she felt Cassandra’s sword-callused fingers brush over her wrist, but she fought to not flinch or lash out. The last thing she needed to do was give the two women any more reason to kill her. When the metal was removed, it was replaced by tightly bound itchy rope that rubbed against her silver skin when she moved, burning it. She almost preferred the heavy iron shackles, but they were quite clearly attached to the floor so they weren’t an option. 

When Cassandra went to grab her elbow to help her up, Pelle shook her off, her horns swaying dangerously without her meaning them to. The human instantly backed up and Pelle rose clumsily to her feet, her knees groaning and her joints popping. Just how long had she been in that position? 

“I don’t like being touched,” Pelle offered simply to the scowling woman, “It’s nothing personal.”

Cassandra looked her over for a moment before finally reading the sincere confused look on Pelle’s face. “Here,” Cassandra sighed, moving towards the door, “Let me show you what we’re talking about.” The human pushed against the doors and they swung wide, allowing Pelle to step through them after Cassandra’s retreating back.


	2. The Green thing Does What?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :SPOILERS:
> 
> Pelle gets thrown right into the fray, and gets to meet two interesting individuals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally was going to make it all one chapter, but the word count was getting much too high so I split it into two.

Pelle had grown so accustomed to the lack of lighting in the dungeon that she found the sudden brightness of the outdoors to be very harsh on her abused eyes. Her hand immediately came up to shield her eyes and her face screwed up in the most unattractive way. A brisk, cold gust of wind brushed past her, ruffling her armor and making a small shiver crawl up her spine. Right. They were in the mountains. That would probably explain why it was so damn bright. Cursed snow reflecting the light and all that crap. Pelle blinked furiously, silently willing her vision to adjust. It took a few moments for the light to become tolerable and she lowered her hand only to see pretty much everyone looking up towards the sky. Was it just her or did the sky seem to have this… green tinge to it? A low grumbling noise echoed through the mountains and sent a chill down her spine. A drop of cold sweat crept its way down her neck as she turned and tilted her head up, her eyes following where everyone else was looking. Her jaw dropped and she stood gaping like an idiot.

“Oh, Andraste’s tits! You’ve got to be kidding me.” Pelle’s voice was just above a whisper. She was too shocked to speak any louder. 

In front of her stood a massive mountain capped in ice and snow. It towered over Pelle and her captors both, though it was not the reason for her concern. The sky above looked as if it had been ripped open by some massive beast or angry god. Green light and floating rocks alike swirled about below it, as if dancing together in tune to some inaudible song. Every now and then, a rock fell from the swirling mass, bathed in green light, only to crash someplace only Maker knows where. Either this was a really, really bad dream… or Pelle was beyond help. _Andraste what did I step into?_

She would never be able to look at the color green the same way again.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra’s voice sounded from in front of the Qunari. Pelle lowered her head to look at the human, unable to wipe the look of shock off of her face no matter how hard she tried. “It’s a link to the world of demons that continues to grow larger.”

Pelle glanced back up at the… _hole_ nervously. “The explosion at the Conclave made that?”

She felt Cassandra turn towards her and by instinct she dropped her eyes from the hole to look at her face. It was as stern as usual, but the heated anger in her dark eyes had visibly subsided. Well, that was a bonus.

“Yes. This isn’t the only rift either; just the largest,” Cassandra’s voice was a little too passive for Pelle’s liking, though it changed almost immediately, “Unless we act, the Breach will grow until it swallows us all.”

A deep thunderous sound echoed through the mountains, chased closely by loud static. The glowing light below the hole roared to life, green sparks crawling up and down its length like a massive horde of spiders. To her surprise and horror, the gash on her hand reacted, crackling and spitting green sparks angrily. Pain rushed through her body, causing her muscles to seize up before her knees buckled under the strain. It was like coming undone in the most frightening way possible, like someone was shocking you for fun. It seared her nerves, burning them, making them cry out in agony. Just as quickly as it came, the pain vanished, and it was only then that Pelle realized she had been screaming. Gasping, she stayed on the icy ground, her limbs trembling slightly from the whole ordeal. Pelle was not a coward, but Sweet Maker this was too much. Cassandra kneeled in front of her and had the decency to look a little concerned. 

“Each time the Breach grows, your mark spreads and it _is_ killing you.” Cassandra commented, motioning towards the hole above them. _Oh, **more** good news, _ Pelle thought bitterly, biting her cheek. “It may be the key to stopping the Breach, though. We must hurry!” The human added with a hint of desperation in her voice.

“I understand,” Pelle replied as calmly as she could, although her twitching arms betrayed her. 

“What are you saying, Qunari?” Cassandra pressed, obviously searching for a more direct answer. 

Pelle knew this game. She knew what Cassandra wanted to hear. If it would get her out of the bind she was in, Pelle would sing a song in the damn Chantry. 

“I’ll do what I can to help,” Pelle offered after taking in a deep breath.

This seemed to please Cassandra greatly because her stern expression smoothed out a little more and she reached out. Just as soon as Cassandra’s fingers got too close, the woman seemed to remember Pelle’s earlier comment and she let her hands drop before rising. The Qunari let out a slow sigh in relief while she got to her feet, which proved to be quite a challange since she didn’t have the assistance of her hands. She didn’t complain though. Anything was better than someone putting their hands on her.

“Come, we must go.” Cassandra ordered before turning on her heel and striding down the packed down path. 

Pelle silently followed, her colorless eyes sweeping side to side to examine the faces glaring at her. She was accustomed to looks, but these were different. The people around her weren’t looking at her with distain or fright. Instead they looked at her with hatred filled eyes, anger etched into the weary lines of their faces. Pelle’s stomach did a little flip and she had to swallow slowly to wet her mouth. Every single person here wanted her dead, it was plain as day. _Well, this just keeps getting better and better,_ She mused to herself nervously. She was trying but failing to keep her stoic composure.

Pelle was so distracted by the seething faces around her that she almost barreled straight into Cassandra’s back. The woman had come to a halt in front of a massive double-door gate and Pelle had to stumble ungracefully to the side to miss her. If Cassandra noticed, she gave no hints that she did. Instead she turned around and a glint of a knife caught the Qunari’s eye. At first she tensed, her barriers beginning to crackle to life, but when the human merely reached for her bound wrists she eased a little. Good, no random stabbings in the middle of some small snow-clad village. Cassandra cut though the ropes with practiced ease only to stow away the knife once more and turn back to the gate.

“They blame you, you know,” Cassandra said quietly as the posted guards swung the doors open, “The people of Haven mourn the Most Holy, Divine Justinia.” 

Despite herself, Pelle felt her heart sink. So she really was the only person to survive the explosion? Without her consent, her thoughts fell upon Denn and the rest of her crew while Cassandra lead the way down a winding path towards a stone bridge. If what Cassandra was saying was true… that meant… they were dead. All of them. Pelle had never allowed herself the luxury of becoming romantically attached to someone after her first mistake, but she still had cared for her little group of fuck ups, despite the fact she hadn’t showed it much. 

Another loud boom chased by static echoed through the mountains and grabbed Pelle’s attention. Before she could even say anything, the pain coursed through her again, burning her insides and making her teeth clench. When it was over, she found herself on the ground again with weak knees and a raw throat. Cassandra was beside her in seconds, dark eyes searching her face for something, though Pelle had no idea what. 

“The pulses are coming faster now. We need to move.” Cassandra said.

Pelle grit her teeth together and pushed herself back to her feet, feeling unsteady. If she survived all this shit, she was going to need an entire tavern to drown out all the scarring it had already done. Pelle hoped they were almost done. Cassandra led on, sparing the Qunari a glance every minute or two, probably to make sure she wasn’t collapsing. Pelle wasn’t sure to feel relieved or offended that Cassandra thought she needed that much care. 

The pair stepped onto the stone bridge in silence. Pelle didn’t know why Cassandra was quiet; maybe everything worth saying had already been said. She didn’t have the heart to ask the armored woman what had become of everyone else. She felt the answer all the way to her guts, but part of her still wanted to ask. A loud crack sounded and a falling rock rocketed from the Breach, barreling through the bridge with a sickening crunch and causing the stone beneath Pelle’s feet to give way. She was barely able to swallow her surprised gasp as she fell, and a jolt of pain rolled up her spine when she landed on the hard ice below. 

“Oh, come on!” Pelle growled into the cold surface below her, feeling irritation replace her uneasy fear. 

Casandra scrambled to her feet next to her, and another rock barreled into the ground close to them. Green light pooled onto the ground, only to seep in and give way to a monstrous, melted looking creature with hooked fingers. 

“Demon!” Cassandra exclaimed, drawing her sword from its sheath and running forward to intercept the creature. 

Maker’s mercy, they weren’t kidding when they said the rift was causing demons. Pelle leapt to her feet, noticing a second creature coming up from the ground in front of her. Suddenly she growled. All the pain, rage and hatred bubbled up within her, boiling her blood and washing away her fears. She focused all of that anger out on that one demon and charged, her barrier up. The Shade tried to slash at her, but its claws merely glanced off without her shield even crackling. _What a weak thing._ She thrust her right arm forward towards its chest and let her power extend out of her fingertips. With a sickening sound, her arm punched through the Shade’s chest, a blade made of golden light clasped in her fist.

The Shade made a loud screeching noise before fading into a burst of green light that vanished on the wind, leaving Pelle’s arm bloody up to the elbow. Curious, she looked down at the blood clinging to her silver skin. It was red, which surprised her. She almost thought it would be green just like everything else. At least the bastards bled right. Cassandra must have finished with her own demon, because she was now approaching Pelle with her sword drawn. 

“Sweet Maker, what is that?!” Cassandra yelled, clearly taken aback.

That always happened when someone knew saw Pelle fight. The Qunari sighed before releasing the energy and the sword vanished as if it had never been there, though the blood on her arm remained. 

“It was a sword,” Pelle replied calmly, almost too calmly, “A magic sword.”

Cassandra’s face pinched together in the most interesting way. “You’re a Mage? Why didn’t you tell me?! You don’t—“

“Look like one?” Pelle offered, cutting Cassandra off. After a few tense moments she continued as if she was explaining some boring lecture about the Fade.

“I don’t use a staff and I don’t wear robes because there’s no point. I didn’t tell you because it’s not important.”

“Not important?” Cassandra snarled, backing up a little and Pelle fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was very difficult. Almost everyone acted this way. She supposed seeing a massive Mage with horns wearing chainmail with a magical sword was very disturbing, so she went easy on Cassandra.

“It’s not. I’m not going to attack you. I agreed to come, remember?” Pelle commented in a matter-of-fact tone. 

Cassandra glared at her for a long while before sighing and sheathing her sword. 

“You’re right. Let’s go. We’re almost there.” She sounded a little more tired than she had just been.

The two continued on with Cassandra leading. Pelle couldn’t help but notice that Cassandra gave her a few quick looks, but she didn’t blame her. On their way up the path, they came across a few more demons, but the pair made quick work of them and carried on. The further up they went, the colder the air got, freezing the blood on Pelle’s armor and skin. The Qunari clucked her tongue and peeled off the frozen bits of blood as they walked. 

“There! Up ahead! You can hear the fighting!” Cassandra called out and quickened her pace, sending snow and ice alike spraying everywhere. 

Pelle listened and sure enough she could hear the grunts and screeches of combat. The Qunari quickened her pace, her body throbbing. Over the crest of the hill, there was a pair of men, a dwarf with reddish hair and a very bald elf. She would have found the elves’ bald head really amusing if the pair weren’t being attacked by a small pack of demons. Floating in the air behind them was a strange contorting green stone. It looked kind of like a deep green gem, but it kept surging outward only to shrink back in on itself. It was really freaky to watch. 

The two women vaulted over some fallen carts and joined the fray. By the time Pelle ripped her sword from the last demon’s body, she was literally covered in blood. She reached up to wipe at her face with the back of her hand, but someone suddenly grabbed her wrist.

“Hurry, before more come though!” It was a foreign voice, but male.

Pelle tried to wrench her marked hand away, but the Elf who had grabbed her wrist hand practically shoved it inside that contorting mass of green. Pelle yanked back, but it was like a black hole and didn’t let her take back her hand. It felt strange. It didn’t hurt, but she could _feel_ the power of that strange thing humming into her. It made her feel stronger, and that scared the shit out of her. With a loud blast, the stone exploded only to vanish, leaving her hand spitting sparks harder than ever. With a loud grunt, Pelle wrenched her hand away hard enough to yank the elf almost off his feet, startling him.

“What did you do?” She growled, rubbing at her wrist where he had touched her. She needed a bath now. 

It took a moment or two for the elf to straighten himself up and dust off his robes as if nothing had happened. 

“I did nothing,” He commented, almost looking amused, “The credit is all yours.”

“This thing, you mean.” Pelle argued, still rubbing her wrist and glaring at him heatedly. 

“I theorized that the mark could seal the rifts since they seemed to be of the same origin. It seems I was correct.” The elf replied, looking almost smug.

Pelle rubbed at her temples with both hands and screwed her eyes shut. The way he talked was giving her a headache. 

“Good, I was worried that we were going to be ass-deep in demons forever. I’m Varric, by the way.” The dwarf said from behind her. He had a deep, husky voice.

“And I’m Solas if we are introducing ourselves.” The elf chimed in, earning him a small growl from Pelle’s chest. 

“Pleasure,” She grated out, rubbing at her temples more firmly and willing her deepening headache to go away. This was just too much shit to take in at once. 

“If you are all done, we need to get to the forward camp.” Cassandra cut in, her voice as stern as usual.

“Good! Bianca will be great company in the valley!” Varric said in one of the most gleeful tones Pelle had heard in some time. 

“Absolutely not!” Cassandra growled back, and before Pelle could say anything, the two were bickering away like kids over a toy. It didn’t last too long, much to her relief, and the bigger group moved forward and through some more wrecked carts. They met even more demons on the frozen river, but with the four of them the battle was very quick. Solas was apparently a very talented mage and Varric knew just how to put a crossbow bolt in between a demon’s eyes. 

“Glad you brought me now, Seeker?” Varric quipped and cast Cassandra a sly smile. The little shit. Pelle was beginning to like him already.

Cassandra completely ignored him and led the way up the path which continued to spiral upwards, curving around the mountain. At the top, they came face to face with another _rift_. The Wisps of green light were no challenge for the four of them and were quickly dispatched. 

“Use the mark!” Solas exclaimed but didn’t make a move to touch her. He must have learned his lesson from before. 

Pelle looked down at her hand, a little apprehensive. After only a moment and a quick thought of _fuck it_ , she extended her hand, palm out, towards the rift. A writhing beam of green light arced between her hand and the rift and the same peculiar humming feeling coursed through her bones. As before, the rift shattered with a loud crack and she was released. Pelle glanced down at her sparking hand, her eyes wide with wonder. What could this thing be? Why would it just _appear_ on her hand after an explosion? Why her of all people? The Qunari had so many questions spinning round in her head that it made her feel dizzy.


	3. Spirit Blade beats Scales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :SPOILERS:
> 
> Pelle and her companions make their way though the mountains only to have a demon of Pride dropped on their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo for making it out of the 'intro'.

The group made their way through the gate. Oh, so that’s where Leliana had gone. The redhead was stooped over a table and arguing loudly with a man in Chantry clothing. Pelle let out a loud groan that brought the attention of her ‘companions’. 

“Not fond of the chantry, are you, Qunari?” Varric observed, chuckling.

“Not really,” Pelle replied, trying not to let her aggravation in her voice.

“Don’t worry. We’re not too affectionate of him either.” Cassandra grumbled before stepping up to the two.

The man looked up. He was old with some seriously crazy eyebrows that made Pelle’s mouth twitch into a smirk. She almost wished that she could conjure fireballs just so she could _relieve_ the man of those caterpillars. He looked up at her, disgust written all over his face. _Oh, here it comes._

“There you are! This is your fault!” He had the most annoying voice Pelle had ever heard.

“Shut it, Chancellor.” Cassandra snapped and Pelle had to stifle a snicker. She hadn’t been lying when she said they weren’t fond of him.

The Chancellor’s face turned an impossible shade of red and he sputtered for words but Cassandra ignored him and stepped up to Leliana. 

“Gather the troops. We need to charge the temple gates and get the prisoner to the Breach.” She had a tone that seemed to dare anyone to challenge her words.

“That’s not the safest route,” Leliana replied, apparently unfazed or at least accustomed to Cassandra’s tone, “Our soldiers could distract enemy forces here while you go through the mountain path.”

Cassandra made an angry strangled noise before turning to look up at Pelle who was standing in the back trying to not look as lost as she felt. 

“What do you think we should do? We cannot decide on our own, and you are the one we need to keep alive, so choose if you will.” Cassandra’s tone hadn’t changed.

Pelle felt her mouth open a little before she closed it with an audible snap. She was a prisoner thrown into a messed up situation and now her very captors didn’t even know how to proceed. Granted there was a giant hole in the sky, but you would think that there would be some sort of order. As perilous as her position currently was, it was kind of funny that she had power over the situation. She would have laughed nervously if not for the many pairs of eyes on her face, waiting for her orders. It was almost like being in her company again, only this time the people around her didn’t care if she made it out in one piece. Pelle let out a sigh.

“I say charge in with the troops and get this over with.” She wanted to add how much she wanted this _thing_ off of her hand, but she bit her tongue. 

“Good,” Cassandra said before striding past Leliana and the Chancellor, “With me.”

Pelle fell into step behind Cassandra along with the rest of the crew followed by a group of battered soldiers. This time they went down, down into the belly of a ruined temple of sorts. Just inside the gates there was another rift, and with it, more demons. _Just how many demons are there?_ The tall demons with lanky arms were tricky to get to because they were fond of vanishing into the ground only to pop up in another place, but after some frantic running Pelle managed to get her spirit blade through the demon’s spine to make it stop running. She closed the rift quickly. It was kind of strange how natural the act was becoming to her. It was unsettling in a sense, but she was happy she could at least use the damn mark for something.

A blonde human man walked up to them then and caught Pelle’s attention. He had a hand on the hilt of his sword. It wasn’t an aggressive stance; more like he was resting his arm. Solas walked up next to her but kept a respectful distance.

“Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this,” Solas tilted his head up to look up at her face. 

“Let’s hope that it works on the big one,” Varric added, striding up to the two on his stumpy legs, “It’d be a shame for us to go all this way only to get ripped apart.”

Pelle looked down at the dwarf and couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Varric. No pressure at all.”

“Of course not,” Varric agreed, winking up at her.

“Good work, you closed the rift.” The blonde man commented, although his voice sounded much too old for his age. He must be quite tired.

“It was the prisoners doing, Commader.” Cassandra replied with a wave of her hand in Pelle’s general direction. She chose not to take offence. 

The Commander spared her a glance, but he was obviously thinking about other things. 

“I hope you can seal that thing. We’ve lost a lot of good men.” He almost sounded like he was blaming her.

Well, what a _charming_ man, although she couldn’t really blame him. He was just hopping on the band wagon of ‘Blame the giant pale Qunari’. 

“You’re not the only one hoping that.” She tried to keep her voice even, but a bit of her irritation bled though. The Commander didn’t notice. 

The group picked their way through the temple. Charred remains of people lay in various positons all over the blackened stone floor. Seeing the bodies made Pelle’s heart give a little painful twinge. Some of these people could have been her men. She paused by a particular body that appeared slight in frame and she frowned. No, it couldn’t be Denn. He wasn’t the only elf at the Conclave. Pelle continued through the temple, trying her best to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat. They paused after rounding a corner and Pelle had to tilt her head back to see the rift. It was much bigger than the ones she had closed before. The writhing green stone above their heads was easily twenty times the size of the others she had sealed. This only fueled the cold fear that was creeping into her stomach. She didn’t have a good feeling about this but she couldn’t turn back; her captors wouldn’t allow it.

“Uhm,” Pelle cleared her throat and tried again, “Any idea how I’m supposed to get up there to close that?”

For a while everything was silent except for the angry popping and hissing coming from the rift above them, but Solas’ voice broke the silence. “You should be able to reach the Breach from the floor. This rift is not closed, but asleep. We’ll need to open it to properly seal it.” He paused. “Though doing so will surely grant us some attention from the other side.”

“Great.” Pelle muttered without mirth.

Without waiting for the others, the Qunari hopped over the shattered stone banisters down to the lower level. To her surprise, everyone else followed, their weapons drawn. It did little to soothe her racing heart, but it was a little reassuring that they had her back. Pelle lifted her hand hesitantly. At first nothing happened and she began to turn around, but the moment quickly passed. Her hand was jerked forward, almost as if it was a piece of metal being drawn in by a massive magnet. Pelle was bodily drug forward until she was able to dig her heels firmly into the stone underfoot and tense her body. Maker’s mercy this was ridiculous! Green light licked at the stone, spurring it to life. The stone contorted, twisting in the most disturbing way possible until a flash of light with force knocked Pelle off of her feet. Something snarled, a booming sound that reverberated through Pelle’s chest and vibrated her bones to the very marrow. 

“Now!” Cassandra yelled, and the Qunari leapt to her feet.

What stood before her was something that belonged only in nightmares. It was huge and white, covered in thick slabs of… scales? It had many eyes, reminding Pelle of a humanoid spider, and its mouth was wide and filled with sharp teeth. She had absolutely no idea what that thing was, but it was quite clearly going to keep them from sealing the Breach. Pelle wasn’t one for religion, but she found herself muttering a quiet prayer to herself while she brought up her barrier around her and called her blade. The golden light flickered and hummed in her fist, stilling her thoughts and allowing her to focus. She always felt more secure with her blade in her grasp. It was almost like a person was holding her hand, though obviously there wasn’t. The demon cackled, electricity jumping in between its hands. Oh, fun. Pelle charged, holding out her blade to the side, ready to slash away anything that came too close. The demon bellowed, throwing tendrils of lightning about his person. Pelle managed to avoid the most of it, but a few strands landed with bruising force on the side of her and her barrier crackled in protest but held. She feinted to the right, thrusting her blade through one of the demons knees. The good thing about having a blade of light was the fact that it went through _everything_. 

The demon let out a deafening screech in pain, its scales catching on fire due to the rather aggressive assault Solas was unleashing from his staff. Varric was somewhere off to the side, but Pelle could hear his quiet curses while he fired off bolts like crazy. Cassandra was right beside her at the demons knees, almost shoulder to shoulder with Pelle, or so to speak. With a rough yank, Pelle tugged her blade out of the demon’s knee only to swing it high, the blade sinking deep into the demons side. It bellowed, swinging one of its massive arms down to crush her. Cassandra and Pelle both bolted to opposite sides and the fist struck down onto the stone hard enough to crush it to dust. Pelle swallowed thickly before darting onto the demons back. If this thing got a hold of her, she wasn’t sure if her barrier could keep her from injury. Pelle lifted her blade above her head, planning to thrust it though the demons neck, but it shook itself violently, effectively tossing the Qunari to the side as if she was nothing but a rag doll. As soon as she hit the ground she had to roll away to avoid a ball of lightning the demon had lobbed after her.

Cassandra managed to draw the demons attention and Pelle got to her feet. It would be different if she was at her full strength, but alas she had to fight this _beast_ of a demon as she was, which was tired, drained and stretched too thin. While Cassandra blocked the demon’s fists with her shield, Pelle felt her eyes drift up towards the ever-changing rift above them. Could she… mess with it? If she did, could it hurt the demon? Either that or it would undoubtedly hurt them instead. Then again it could do nothing, but she seriously doubted that part. The situation was pretty dire as it was; Cassandra was being backed into a rocky corner of the temple, so Pelle lifted her hand up towards the rift again. The light arced between them. This rift was powerful; it hurt her to do this and she clenched her teeth against a scream that was dying to rip from her throat. With an earth-shaking groan, the rift exploded outwards, the green light passing harmlessly though Pelle and her companions but knocking the demon to its knees. It was only then that Pelle realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out in a much-too-relieved sigh before dashing forward and leaping onto its back once more.

With all the force she could muster from her aching body, the Qunari drove her blade strait through the back of the demons neck. It sank in deep enough to shove its way through the other side. The demon let out a wet garble and blood hit the floor before it vanished beneath her, causing her firmly fall on the ground with a loud whoosh of air that left her lungs on the impact. 

“Quick! Seal it!” Cassandra demanded, nudging Pelle with her shield hard enough to bruise.

_For fucks sake give me a moment to breathe, woman!_ As much as she wanted to say her thoughts out loud, Pelle thought it would be best for her to not provoke the armored woman. Instead she got to her feet once more and wearily lifted her palm. Once again the rift grabbed her, but this time it felt wrong. It was strong, much too strong for her. It was like a massive beast thrashing about that she had no hope to control. Instead of humming into her, it bit, digging its claws into her flesh and ripping her apart from the inside. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her mouth was frozen into a silent scream as the beast drug her down. She wanted to fight, to pull away but she couldn’t. Her body refused to obey her commands and soon the rift drug her down into the pitch black until it swallowed her.


	4. A Not-So-Hostile Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hint of Pelle's past is revealed and Solas gets curious about her unique 'weapon'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Life decided to reach up and slap by face for attention, so my writing was suspended for a bit.

Too many hands. Hands that gripped, pulled and touched. Too many. She couldn’t breathe. Her back soaked with blood, aching and burning with the blows. A glint of cold metal in the sun. The sharp teeth of the saw bracing against her, biting. She struggled, she spat. She kicked for all her worth and the blows only struck her harder. Nails scraping against her scalp, hot breath on her neck. The sick feeling of dread in her stomach. Her lips cracked, bleeding, parting with swears and pleas alike. They did not listen. Rage bubbling in her gut, a flash of golden light—  
\------------------------------------  
Pelle flailed and sat bolt upright, her colorless eyes wide. Her breathing came in short, frantic gasps, her chest rising and falling faster than what was healthy. Her long white hair was down, sticking to her neck and face, slick with sweat. Her arms trembled slightly from the nightmare. Her back throbbed with phantom pain, as if it was a living thing with its own memories. It took the pale Qunari a few minutes to slow her breathing and gain her composure. It had been a long time since she remembered that day, willingly or not. One shaking hand reached up to peel her hair away from her damp temples and tuck the white strands behind a pointed ear. Something hit the floor and shattered, startling her hard enough to have her leap to her feet, her golden blade in her hand, back facing the corner of the room.

“Oh!”

A young, terrified looking elf stood by the doorway. Her eyes were impossibly wide, and her legs trembled the slightest bit. A shattered wooden box lay scattered on the ground by her feet. Guilt immediately flooded Pelle’s gut and she released her blade and sat back down slowly.

“I’m so sorry to have d-disturbed you, my Lady.” The elf’s voice was terribly strangled, almost a squeak from her fright. “I-I didn’t know y-you were awake, I-I swear!” 

Pelle’s eyes widened a little in surprise. Why was this elf suddenly calling her such a thing? The last couple of people she had seen before all the rifts wanted to gut her. Why the sudden change?

“It’s alright,” The Qunari tried to make her voice as soothing as possible, but it was quite clear she had screamed in her sleep because all that managed to come out was a hoarse rasp. She winced at the sound of her own voice, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. You startled me, that’s all.”

To Pelle’s dismay, the elf collapsed onto her hands and knees before effectively planting her forehead firmly onto the floor. 

“I beg for your forgiveness, and your blessing. I am but a humble servant,” The elf pleaded in the most awkward way possible. “You’re in Haven, my Lady. You stopped the Breach from growing! It’s all people have talked about for the past three days!”

Pelle squirmed uncomfortably on the bed. The way the elf was acting towards her made her more uneasy than an entire ballroom of nobles staring at her ever could. What the hell had happened?

Wait, three days?

Memories flooded Pelle’s brain, causing her to reel back. She gripped at the bed sheets, her sharp nails digging into the fabric. The rifts, the mark on her hand. It had all been real. Her stomach clenched and contorted on itself, making her feel slightly nauseous. The last thing she remembered was that… thing. The monstrous white demon that spat lightning, and the rift. The rift that had torn her apart, shredding into her very being. How had she survived it?

“I need to go notify Lady Cassandra that you’ve wakened,” It was the elf again, who was already fleeing out the door before Pelle could even think of replying. 

Careful fingers rubbed at her aching temples. So… if she got everything straight, she had been a monster that had killed the Most Holy, to a prisoner who could wiggle her fingers and seal rifts, to… a lady? Pelle’s head throbbed and she hissed, gathering her feet beneath her. There was no way she would be able to figure everything out on her own. She needed answers. Dark eyes and a stern expression crossed her mind. Yes, Cassandra would be the one to ask. She needed to find her. Determined, Pelle rose to her feet and shoved her way out the door and into the chilly outside air. As soon as she did, Pelle wanted nothing more than to turn around and go right back into the house. The snow packed walkways were crowded with both soldiers and townspeople alike. The soldiers had their back to the townspeople, holding them back and clearing a path for her. 

As soon as she had stepped outside, the soldiers slapped their gauntleted fists to the breast of their armor in salute and bowed their heads. The townspeople gasped and whispered to one another. So many eyes were on her now; more than ever. It wasn’t the fact that she was getting looked at that bothered her; it was what was behind those eyes. Pelle was accustomed to distain, hate and fear. What she saw now was only adoration, and awe with a bit of fear mixed in. Why in the Maker’s name were they looking at her in such a way? Nervous, Pelle picked her way down the path cleared by the soldiers’ bodies.

“That’s her. That’s the Herald of Andraste.” A faceless voice murmured as she passed.

Pelle fought the urge to flinch and kept walking with her eyes forward. She couldn’t stand to see all the townspeople adoring her. Something really strange must have happened for them to say such a ridiculous thing, and by the void what was a ‘Herald of Andraste’ anyway? Pelle was just a giant colorless mercenary leader with intimidating horns and a piercing stare. She was the _last_ person to be considered holy. She had to swallow a few times to wet her dry mouth as she walked down the path and up a set of icy stone stairs. The voices were here too, murmuring after her as if they were spirits from the Fade.

“She did it. She stopped the Breach from spreading.”

“I heard she was supposed to seal it entirely, but it’s more than anyone else has done.”

Pelle felt her right eye twitch in irritation. So her attempt to seal the Breach had failed despite her almost getting shredded to pieces over the whole ordeal. Fantastic. How could this day get any worse? Knowing she would rue those words, she ascended another pair of stairs. The Chantry stood before her, its double doors wide open, almost as if it was inviting her inside.

Right. Into the belly of the beast. 

Despite her stoic expression as she crossed the Chantry’s threshold, Pelle’s heart was hammering in her chest hard enough that she swore it was about to burst through her sternum and land with a wet _splat_ on the stone floor. Chantry sisters lined the hall, heads bowed and voices hushed. The torches on the pillars lining the Chantry flickered, casting ominous shadows on the wall that didn’t help ease Pelle’s frantic nerves. Loud voices could be heard through the pair of double doors in front of her. It sounded like some man and Cassandra were having a rather heated discussion. Instead of waiting, the Qunari swallowed down her heart and pushed the doors open, putting a pause on the argument.

“Seize her!” To her irritation, Chancellor Rodrick from before was there, bushy eyebrows and red face and all. “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

Pelle felt white hot anger curl up into a tight knot in her belly. After all she had done, he couldn’t have the decency to get off of her ass?

“Disregard that and leave us.” Cassandra snapped, cutting off any retort that was working its way onto Pelle’s tongue. 

The guards at the door saluted and departed, closing the doors behind them and the Qunari forced herself to swallow her anger. Rodrick, however, didn’t seem to take this well.

“You walk a dangerous line Seeker,” His face seemed to grow even redder, if at all possible, “This savage caused all this mess and now you refuse to send her to trial as instructed?”

_Oh, I can show you **just** how savage I can be, _Pelle thought heatedly, though once again Cassandra beat her.__

__Cassandra’s sharp face grew even more honed and her dark eyes narrowed dangerously. “The Breach is stable but it’s still a threat! I will not ignore it. If it wasn’t for her, we would all surely be dead by now.”_ _

__Pelle turned her hardened face towards Rodrick, who quickly schooled his features into the customary scowl._ _

__“So I’m still a suspect after everything I just did? Do you have any idea what that entails?” There was a lot more venom in her voice than intended and it made the Chancellor square his shoulders, though he was still tiny in comparison to her._ _

__“You most certainly are!” He snapped._ _

__“No, she is not!” Cassandra cut in, her gauntleted fist coming down to smash against the war table in the room._ _

__Leliana came into the room then, her blue eyes hardened. At first Pelle was expecting her to glare up at her like everyone else, but instead her gaze was fixed on the Chancellor instead._ _

__“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” Leliana explained coolly, “Someone the Most Holy did not expect. They could still be alive, and if not, they most certainly have allies amongst us.”_ _

__Rodrick looked like he had been forced to swallow a whole lemon without a drop of water._ _

__“You can’t possibly be suggesting that _I_ had anything to do with this!” He jabbed a thick finger at Pelle’s left hand, which now permanently had a soft green glow to it, “ _She’s_ the one who has that **thing** on her hand!”_ _

__A low growl emitted from Pelle’s chest and the Chancellor took a nervous step to the side. All this accusing was making her want to run something though. She could feel her right hand tingle with energy before golden sparks danced in between her fingertips. Surprisingly, Cassandra didn’t appear worried for the Chancellor’s safety._ _

__“You along with many others are under suspicion. By the Void, almost everyone is a suspect at this point!” She seemed more frustrated than ever._ _

__“But not her?!” Rodrick accused from across the table, jabbing a finger again._ _

__Pelle felt her control crack a little and she took a step forward, her voice a low hiss. “If you point another finger at me, I’m going to cut it off!” Her hand sparked again and the Chancellor swallowed thickly._ _

__“Herald, calm yourself,” Cassandra said, her voice a tad bit more gentle, which confused Pelle to no end. Now even the Seeker was calling her a ‘Herald.’ “Chancellor, the Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour. She is the last person to blame.”_ _

__When those words stroked her eardrums, Pelle felt all the blood drain from her head and puddle onto the floor by her feet. She suddenly felt dizzy and she had to grip the edge of the war table, all intimidation gone. There was no way she was hearing this right. She did not hear Cassandra say she was _sent_ by he Maker. She did not. _ _

__“I don’t think you know what you are saying,” Pelle rasped, her knuckles turning a lighter shade of silver from gripping the table so hard, “You’re saying that your Maker sent a Qunari to save you?”_ _

__She couldn’t hide the bite from her voice, but Cassandra didn’t seem to care at all._ _

__“The Maker does as he chooses, it is not for me to say. Though I’m not wrong to think that humans aren’t the only race concerned with the fate of the world. We all live here, after all.”_ _

__Was that an attempt at a joke? If Pelle didn’t feel like she was about to faint again, she would have laughed._ _

__“The Breach remains,” Leliana said, “And your mark is still our only chance of closing it for good.”_ _

__“You say that like it’s up for you to decide,” Chancellor Rodrick snapped stubbornly. He was like an annoying fly that buzzed around your head when you tried to eat._ _

__Something slammed hard against wood, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, Pelle included. Cassandra was at the war table. Underneath her hands sat a very large, very thick book with multiple bookmarks sticking through the top._ _

__“I am right to assume you know what this is, Chancellor?” Her tone was flat as she pointed at the cover._ _

__Rodrick made an attempt to speak, but all that came out was a garbled sputter that made him sound as ridiculous as he looked._ _

__“It is a writ from the Divine,” Cassandra continued, eyes narrowed, “Granting us the power to act.” Cassandra drew herself up and squared her shoulders before closing in on Rodrick, her expression anything but friendly._ _

__“As of right now, I am declaring the Inquisition reborn!”_ _

__Pelle lifted her head a little. What was the Inquisition? She had never heard of such a thing. The Chancellor knew though, guessing by the stricken look etched into his face._ _

__“We will seal the Breach,” Cassandra growled, her voice rising to an alarming level of force as she crowded Rodrick’s space, “We will find those responsible and we will restore order. _With_ or _without_ your approval!” _ _

__Pelle’s white eyebrows lifted impossibly high, almost disappearing into her hair and her eyes widened. By the Void, Cassandra had some serious balls. If the situation wasn’t so tense, she would have laughed and made a jab at her, but this was definitely no time for such a thing. Chancellor Rodrick must’ve not liked this at all, because he turned on his heel and quickly left without looking back. He reminded her of a kicked dog. If he hadn’t been such an ass, she might’ve felt pity for him._ _

__“Took him long enough,” Cassandra sighed, turning to the Qunari, “This is going to be rough. We have no leader, no numbers.”_ _

__“And no Chantry support,” Leliana added in, earning her a stern look._ _

__Pelle could tell just by the way the two were looking at her that she wasn’t done. The former Mercenary leader was now sucked in. Any hopes she had at returning to a normal life had died when the Breach resisted her._ _

__She needed a drink. A strong one._ _

__Seeming to sense this, Cassandra turned towards her again. “We will need your help, but for now, take a moment. You look like you’re about to have a breakdown. I will call for you when I have gathered everyone in the council.”_ _

__“Sounds good to me,” Pelle replied quietly before exiting the war room with her head spinning. She walked through the Chantry in a daze. Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own._ _

__It was pretty funny that she had made her way outside, down the stairs and ran right into the tavern. Pelle ducked inside, not even bothering to try to hide her face from anyone. When one was a giant colorless Qunari with a green glowing hand, one tended to draw attention. Without a sideways glance at all the people looking at her, she took a seat at the bar._ _

__“Give me the strongest thing you have.”_ _

__The bartender, an older woman gave her a soft look. “If anyone deserves a strong drink, it’s you, Herald. Here, on the house.”_ _

__The woman pulled out a dusty bottle from under the bar and filled its contents in a glass before passing it over. It could very much have been poison, but Pelle didn’t care at the moment. All she managed to do was mutter a quiet ‘thank you’ before she swallowed half the glass. She immediately coughed and had to thump herself soundly on the chest to clear her windpipe so she could breathe again. Maker, what was that stuff? Pelle let out a sputtering laugh and smiled at her glass._ _

__“Enjoying yourself, Herald?”_ _

__The voice came from her left and she immediately felt her smile fall. Solas propped his elbow up on the bar and tucked his fist under his chin and fixed her with an amused expression._ _

__“Trying to,” She replied, before taking another sip that took her breath away._ _

__“It’s well deserved,” Solas agreed, which made her relax a little. So he wasn’t here to get onto her drinking. “Would you mind coming with me to speak in a more private area? I’m afraid something has been nagging at me since I met you.”_ _

__The dread in her stomach curled up again and she cast him a dark look._ _

__Solas held up his hands, eyes twinkling. “It won’t take much time, I promise. I would ask here, but I’m afraid it might frighten the other patrons, hence why I asked if we could do it in a more private setting.”_ _

__With that he stood and Pelle scowled into her drink, but she swallowed the rest before rising to her feet and following the bald elf down a path and up another flight of stairs. Once there, he turned towards her again. As promised, it was more private than the tavern, but people were still about, so Pelle allowed herself to ease up a little._ _

__“What did you need, Solas?” Pelle tried to make her voice as patient as possible._ _

__“Could I see your weapon?” Solas said casually, as if he was asking her if she wanted a biscuit or toast. This threw her off guard, but before she could respond he continued. “When I first saw it, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. Now that the immediate danger has passed, could I see it so I can sate my curiosity?”_ _

__Pelle had to admit; in all her years of being one of the strangest mages in Thedas, no one had ever _asked_ to see the golden light that cut through damn near everything. She blinked stupidly at Solas’ patient face before sighing and raising up her hand. Carefully, she extended her blade and the golden light wrapped itself around her arm, warm and buzzing. Solas crowded her, his huge blue eyes fixated on the flickering blade. _ _

__“How fascinating,” He mused, as if to himself, “You can just, summon it out of nowhere, yes?”_ _

__“Uh,” Pelle wasn’t quite sure how to answer that, “I suppose so, yes. I don’t really think about it. I just do it.”_ _

__“Curious.” Solas paused, his face dangerously close._ _

__“What’s so fascinating about it?” Pelle’s questioning tone was wavering, her impatience was beginning to show._ _

__“Well,” He began, backing away, “Your way of fighting closely resembles ancient elven mages called Arcane Warriors, although I doubt that is possible.”_ _

__Pelle had to admit, that small tease of information nagged at her brain. “Why?”_ _

__Solas smiled at her, though it had a hint of sadness to it. “Because it is long dead, but the human version of it requires a ridiculous amount of training and special permission from the Chantry, if I am correct. Where did you train?”_ _

__Pelle let out a low, nervous laugh. “Well… I didn’t. I’ve been able to do this since…” she trailed off, and her haunted memory came back, “As long as I can remember.”_ _

__She suppressed a shiver, and Solas looked sated._ _

__“Well, regardless, that’s quite an ability you have there. I’m glad we’re on the same side; I’d hate to have that pointed at me.”_ _

__Just then, the sound of snow crunching underfoot came up behind them and Pelle let her blade vanish before turning._ _

__A scout approached her, who quickly saluted. “Lady Cassandra asks that you join her in the War room.”_ _

__The Qunari didn’t even bother to suppress her groan. “That was fast.”_ _

__Not even seven minutes ago she was enjoying a rather strong drink. Oh well, time to get to work… for whatever that entailed. Sighing to herself, she bid Solas goodbye before trudging off towards the Chantry._ _


	5. Welcome to the Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pelle's nighttime dip gets interrupted by an unwelcome visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This Chapter was really hard for me to write. I'm sorry if it's rubbish. For some reason my head just... didn't want to cooperate.

When Pelle pushed her way through the double doors of the Chantry, Cassandra was waiting for her. 

“Sorry,” She started, falling into step beside her but having to walk significantly faster to keep up with Pelle’s long strides, “It took less time than I thought. They are ready to meet you now.”

The mark on Pelle’s left hand sparked suddenly, but unlike before, it brought her no pain.

She felt Cassandra’s eyes linger on the mark. “Does it trouble you?”

The Qunari cast her hand a glance before continuing as if it hadn’t just spat sparks for no reason. “Well, considering that it’s no longer killing me, no. It’s fine.” 

Pelle could have _sworn_ that she heard Cassandra smile. “Well, good,” She quipped, “Now that both the Mark and the Breach are stable, we can focus on things ahead.”

The two made their way into the War room where three other people were waiting. Pelle recognized the Commander from before, as well as Leliana. The dark-skinned woman clad in _lots_ of gold, however, she did not recognize. The woman was undoubtedly pretty, but all that gold made Pelle’s eyes hurt.

“I think it’s time for proper introductions.” Cassandra started, “This is Commander Cullen. You have already met.”

Pelle and Cullen exchanged courteous nods, but otherwise that was it. It seemed that Cullen was still tense about the Breach situation. 

“Lady Leliana is our spymaster,” Cassandra continued, and the redhead scrunched up her face unpleasantly. “And this is Lady Josephine Montilyet. She’s our ambassador.”

Josephine’s eyes, which had been focused on a clip of parchment before her, flicked up. Pelle watched with mild amusement as the Ambassador’s face went through a series of emotions all in quick succession. 

“Y-you’re… even taller than I heard.” Her voice was laced with an accent Pelle couldn’t place, but then again she really hadn’t been around that much.

“A pleasure,” Pelle replied as pleasantly as possible before the group delved into bickering about who they should contact about helping with the Breach.

Leliana had her heart set on the Mages, while Cullen – clearly an ex-Templar himself – was set on his brethren. Josephine merely stood in the corner, writing down Maker knows what while the two squabbled. Every now and then Cassandra would put in a word or two and Pelle chilled her hands before placing them over her eyes. 

She had only been in this room for five minutes and they had already managed to give her a headache. Pelle herself wasn’t sure who she would side with. No doubt other mages would argue that she needed to side with her own kind, but then again Pelle wasn’t really a mage; not a normal one, at least. She felt no connection what so ever to other mages. They cast lightning and fire and crap but all she could do was pull out a glowing blade and do very impressive things with her barriers. She didn’t even dress like a mage.

With that said, Pelle didn’t feel any connection to the Templars, either. They were created to keep mages in line, but an alarming amount of them had forgotten their duty and hunted mages for sport. 

Telling Pelle to choose between the mages and Templars was like asking her to choose between a lame horse and an arrow to the ribs. Both would get you nowhere. 

She hadn’t even noticed that the council was talking to her until she heard Josephine’s voice cut through the air.

“Since the Chantry has denounced the inquisition – specifically you – we cannot reach out to either party until the Chantry is dealt with. With them against us, no force will stand by us.”

 _Oh, more good news,_ Pelle thought bitterly while Josephine shuffled through her papers.

“A Chantry member called Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you, Herald,” Leliana said, “She says she has names of other sisters and information that can prove useful to winning over the remaining members of the Chantry, if not at least quelling them.” 

Pelle wasn’t religious by any means, but she soon found herself praying silently to whatever gods there where to give her the strength to deal with this. These people were strangers to her, yet they expected her to just hop to it and do as they wished. In some ways she was spiteful because of the whole situation and how they had treated her in the beginning only to turn face and be as polite as could be. 

She never should have taken the money. If she hadn’t, some other poor bastard would be standing here with the glowing hand. If she hadn’t, all of her men would still be alive. The thought was like a kick to the gut and she pressed her chilled fingers into her eyes even harder. Thinking what could have been wouldn’t help her. As much as she hated it, she was the one with the green hand. She was the one everyone called Herald. All she could do was move forward, and so she did.

“I’ll see what she has to say then,” Pelle said before removing her hands. 

Her voice must have sounded as tired as she felt because all four council members turned at once to look at her. 

“This is good,” Cassandra commented as she walked up next to the Qunari, her head tilted far back so she could look her in the face, “We’ll leave for the Hinterlands whenever you’re ready.”

~

By the time Pelle, Solas, Cassandra and Varric had made their way off to the Hinterlands, they had a list almost as long as Pelle’s leg of requests and things that needed to be taken care of. Mother Giselle was at the top of the list, followed by convincing a Horse Master Dennet to supply the Inquisition forces with horses. He was supposed to be a real breeding legend. As nice as the possibility of having a mount would be, Pelle wasn’t expecting it to go well. Normal horses were usually much too small for her; the last time she rode a horse, the poor beast could hardly trot. She had never subjugated another creature to that trouble again. 

The Hinterlands was a pretty landscape filled with forests and rivers, hills and cliffs. The trip up there had been pleasant enough, if not tiring, but all that changed when they arrived at camp. They had passed an obscene amount of bodies along the road. Once they arrived, a small female dwarf approached them with her hands behind her back. She introduced herself as scout Harding, and delivered a quick yet alarming report about Templar and Mage activity. The two parties were slaughtering each other in droves and they didn’t care who got caught in the middle.

After dismissing Harding, Pelle found herself scowling. If the Mages and Templars wanted to cancel each other out, that was up to them, but drawing in and killing everyone around? That was unacceptable. The Qunari sat on a crate and waited while Varric and the others checked their bags of supplies.

“Where do you want to hit first?” Cassandra asked, appearing at her side.

Even though the Seeker’s random appearance startled her, Pelle cast her a quick glance. “Well, Mother Giselle seems to be the priority.” She scratched at a dry patch of skin at the base of her horns; man she really needed to pick up a jar of horn cream. 

“After that, I suppose we can give Master Dennet a visit. We can take care of any matters along the way.” Pelle shrugged her shoulders absently, but Cassandra seemed pleased none the less. Pelle didn’t really have a plan. She just did things as they came to her, usually. 

~

Mother Giselle was rather easy to find; she had been holed up in a refugee town at the base of the hill, though that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the fact that the Crossroads were getting absolutely swarmed with both Mages and Templars alike. Inquisition forces were doing their best to fend off the attackers, but the Inquisition was still lacking in the force department, so the battle wasn’t going too well. 

Pelle jumped into action immediately with her group following closely at her heels. The battle was longer than expected; bloody and savage with danger at every turn. If she wasn’t rolling out of the way of a fireball, she was deflecting a Templar’s blade or ducking away from a speeding arrow. Pelle was elbow deep inside a Templar’s ribcage when a stray arrow pelted off of her barrier with a funny _ping_ only to bury itself into a tree trunk right beside Varric’s head, who was sticking it out to look for enemies. He ducked back down with a loud and rather colorful curse.

“Oi!” Varric roared, loading Bianca from the safe cover of his rock, “Watch where you’re throwing those!” 

Pelle pulled her arms from the Templar’s body and laughed, though another arrow bouncing off of her invisible wall made her sober up a bit. “I can’t help where they land, Varric.” She retorted back, craning her head around to find where the Archer in question was hiding. All the other enemies were dead or dying all over the ground, but that _one_ Archer didn’t seem to know how to accept defeat. “Would you rather have me take an arrow to the face?”

Varric poked his head up from behind the rock and gave the perfect impersonation of a humanoid mole. “I was thinking shoulder, really. Should leave a nice scar to tell stories about.”

“I have plenty of scars already, thanks.” Pelle’s eyes caught movement behind a house to the left.

“Could you two _please_ act like children once the battle is **over**?” Cassandra asked in an exasperated tone.

“I think I would have to agree with the Seeker,” Solas agreed, who was crouching behind an overturned cart to hide from the Archer. 

“Spoilsport,” Varric sneered before taking aim at the house and firing. 

Either the timing was perfect or Varric had ridiculously good luck because the bolt vaulted through the window just as the Archers head came into view. There was a wet noise, followed closely by the sound of a body hitting the floor.

While everyone else came out of hiding, Pelle glanced down at Varric and let out a low whistle. “Damn, Varric. Remind me to never cheat you in cards.”

The dwarf gave her a roguish grin, but said nothing.

“Just in time!” An Inquisition scout came running up to Pelle looking tired and worse for wear. “Mother Giselle is over there, Herald. She’s tending to the wounded refugees.”

Colorless eyes followed the scout’s finger to a house on the edge of the village. 

“We’ll sort out things, here, Herald.” Cassandra said from the side of a wounded scout, “You go ahead and speak with Mother Giselle.”

The house in question was filled to the brim with wounded bodies. The air inside was hot and carried the scent of medicine and blood. Pelle crinkled her nose at the smell but made her way over to where a person in Chantry clothing was kneeling down. 

“Mother Giselle?” Pelle asked while carefully stepping over a wounded elf. 

The figure stood and turned to face her. She was a dark and older woman with a kindly face. “Herald. Come, let us speak outside.”

Pelle couldn’t argue with that. The pair made their way outside where Giselle almost immediately got down to business. The woman told her of her plan. She explained why the Chantry was acting in such a way; why her title of ‘Herald’ was so upsetting. 

“If you take away their unified voice; if you place doubt in their hearts, the Chantry will lose their power,” Giselle explained.

Pelle was shocked to hear a Revered Mother of the Chantry say these things. A member of the Chantry was telling her _how_ to deal with her own sisters.

“Thank you for this information,” Pelle started, feeling terribly confused, “But why are you doing this? You’re with the Chantry yourself.”

“Because they need to see past their own fear to realize the real threat,” Giselle explained calmly. 

Afterwards, Mother Giselle departed for Haven and Pelle discussed her talk with the Revered Mother with Cassandra. 

“Well, that’s an interesting thought,” The Seeker mused, “If we were able to pull that off, we could quell the Chantry so we could work.”

Pelle rubbed at the back of her neck. “That’s the plan.”

Once again Pelle was almost overwhelmed by more things that needed to be done by the refugees. Apparently being the Herald meant that you could solve everyone’s problems, or you were expected to. 

At the end of the day, Pelle and her group had managed to gather Ram Meat and clothing for the refugees, quell the Templars and seal a few rifts. Exhausted, they made camp next to a small lake that overlooked the shattered remains of a village most of the refugees had come from. Pelle tried to sleep, but the humid air outside was seeping into her tent and making her underclothes stick to her skin in the most distracting way. 

In fact, Pelle was absolutely covered with dirt and blood from the day’s activities. There was a lake right next to them, why not go for a dip? She really could use the alone time. The Qunari poked her head out of her tent to make sure the coast was clear. Afterward, she crept out of the camp as quietly as she could. Sneakiness certainly wasn’t one of her strong suits, but she managed to slip away without incident.

It was dark outside, but the moon overhead lit the surrounding scenery just enough to make navigation through the uneven rocks a possibility without any sprained ankles. The water lapped quietly at the edges of the lake, the mass of water looking like it was harboring some massive living thing. Pelle paused and shook her head. Right. That is definitely not something that she needed to be thinking about; especially after the content of her past few days. 

Pelle shrugged out of her underclothes and her smalls and breast band quickly joined the small puddle of fabric on the rocks. The Qunari stepped into the water and had to bite her cheek to keep from gasping out loud. The water was surprisingly chilly compared to the outside air. She took her time despite the bite of the water. Pelle moved her long fingers though her soiled hair, the digits working out the tangles while the water swept away the caked-on dirt. The Lake wasn’t as deep as she would have liked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She rubbed at her silver skin, her smooth hands running over the expanse of her body. Her fingers paused when they came across each thick scar, the pads of her fingers trailing along the raised edges of the hardened flesh.

She remembered the origin of each scar from the smallest hint of one on her breast to the long deep one that ran its way down the outer corner of her eye. Careful fingers trailed up her throat, wiping away the grime with wet hands, her palms brushing over the scar on her neck and she felt herself relax into the water.

She sank down, bending her knees so the water could come all the way up to her ears. She tilted her head back, throwing her hair into the water and tossing it around with her hands. She had to be careful; the last time she had done that her hair had gotten snagged in the curl of her horns. It had taken over an hour to untangle it all. 

Feeling clean and remarkably refreshed, Pelle wadded out of the water only to sit down on a nearby rock with her back facing the camp so she could squeeze the water out of her hair. She brought all of the white mass to one side and began twisting, her mind trailing off to Maker knows where. That must have been why she didn’t hear the footsteps on the rocks behind her. By the time she realized she wasn’t alone, it was already too late.

“Herald?” Cassandra’s voice was alarmed. Apparently Cassandra had taken it upon herself to stand watch and had decided to walk her rounds.

Pelle cursed quietly under her breath, scolding herself for taking too long. “I’m almost finished. Sorry for startling you.”

“Oh, no I’m—“ The Seeker’s voice died in her throat and Pelle felt her eyes fall on her back. 

Since her hair was pulled over one shoulder, the Qunari’s entire back was laid out for all to see. Pelle had chosen to not look ever since the… accident, but she could only imagine what it looked like.

“Maker’s breath, your back, Herald!” Cassandra seemed to not know the appropriate thing to say.

Pelle felt her muscles tighten under the scrutiny, but she refused to look at Cassandra. Why did she feel so… ashamed? The feeling made her angry, though if it was at Cassandra or herself, she couldn’t say. 

“I know.” It was all the Herald was able to say back before she rose.

Finally gathering her wits, Pelle turned to look at Cassandra. The coincidence that they were both women made the fact that she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on her less awkward and Pelle found herself thankful it wasn’t someone else, like Varric, or worse _Solas_. The Seeker was rooted to the spot, her eyes surprised, but she moved her head up to look Pelle in the face when she had turned.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gawked…” Cassandra stammered out, her voice tight.

Pelle stooped over to grab her clothing which she quickly put on despite the fact that she was still wet. The fabric clung to her, feeling more like a second skin than clothing. 

“It’s fine. Just… please don’t tell anyone what you saw today. It’s something I don’t want to talk about,” Pelle rubbed at the back of her neck, feeling stressed about the whole ordeal. The last person who had seen her back was…. Him. She didn’t want to think about him. Not now, not ever. 

Cassandra nodded absently before stumbling back. “I… should go back on duty.” And with that, she was gone.

Sighing, Pelle trudged back into camp and returned to her tent only to flop on her back on her bed roll. Her horns only allowed her to sleep on her back or her stomach, and the ground was much too hard for the latter. For a while it seemed that she would never fall asleep, but after some time she managed to doze off, thinking of the ways she was going to take her frustrations out on some demons or bandits.


	6. If Qunari could fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pelle meets a creature as stubborn as she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a shorter, fun chapter.

Cassandra was true to her word. When the next day came, neither Varric nor Solas gave any impression that they had noticed Pelle slip out the other night. Despite that small comfort, Pelle found herself in an ill mood. Her body was tight, wound up like a metal spring ready to snap at a moments notice. She was even fiercer in battle, throwing herself towards her foes with a savagery she hadn’t felt in some time. 

She knew that her companions had noticed her change in demeanor, but they kept silent, even when she used her barrier to launch a bandit into the air. He had gone so high that Pelle actually lost sight of him for a brief moment before he came back down to the ground with a loud, crunchy thump.

The group made their way towards the northwest section of the hinterlands, clearing bandits and demons alike along the way. Pelle was like a rampaging Druffalo; whatever opposed her, she killed it. Whatever sat in front of her, she conquered, never pausing to catch her breath. When the sun was high overhead, Cassandra finally cracked. 

“Okay, okay. Enough. We need to take a breather.” The Seeker stopped in her tracks and Solas almost ran into her. 

“It feels like we’ve been fighting all damn day and we haven’t once stopped for water or anything.”

Pelle was on her way up a rocky slope when this happened, and she felt her grip slip a little when she turned her head. Her stomach gurgled angrily at her and she felt one corner of her mouth tilt up a little. Cassandra was right; they needed to eat and rest.

“Thank the Maker you said something, Seeker!” Groaned Varric, who had already taken it upon himself to sit down on a nearby stump and place Bianca next to him. “I was afraid to say anything myself.”

Pelle felt a hint of guilt nudge itself into her stomach; for the most of the day the Herald forgot that she wasn’t travelling alone. She was accustomed to long, grueling treks though mountains and snow, but she couldn’t expect everyone else to be as well. The Qunari slid down the slope to meet her band and promptly sat on a nearby rock and tore into a serving of bread and cheese Solas had given her.

The group ate in relative silence, which she found rather relaxing. After a few minutes, she found herself looking at her fellows through lowered white eyelashes. It was strange for such a band to be travelling together. You had her, a former Mercenary leader, a Qunari and a Mage, travelling with a Dwarf who had taken it upon himself to name his crossbow, a woodland Apostate that she knew nothing about, and Cassandra, the right hand of the past Divine and one stern individual. 

Pelle hid her amused smile in her food, but Solas caught the crinkle around her eyes. 

“What’s so funny, Herald?” The elf asked in a mild tone.

This made the other two of the group look up from their food, which only made Pelle smile harder despite herself.

“Oh,” She had to clear her throat to dislodge a bit of cheese that had gotten stuck.

“It’s nothing special, I just find this amusing.”

“How so?” Cassandra pressed. Her eyebrows came down, giving the Seeker her usual stern look.

“Well, look at us.” Pelle motioned at the group with a hand. “We are the most unorthodox group I have ever seen.”

Her smile widened when Cassandra blinked slowly, as if the Seeker was now waking from a dream.

“Oh,” The Seeker said, returning to her food, and both Varric and Solas laughed.

The rest of the meal went on without any interruptions and the group was on their way relatively quickly. To Pelle’s surprise, the group finally came upon Dennet’s farm only about a half hour after they began to move. Pelle picked through the herds of Druffalo to the main cabin on the top of the hill. 

“So, you’re with the Inquisition?” Dennet asked once introductions were through.

“Yes. We were hoping that you could help us with horses for our forces.” Pelle replied mildly, looking down to keep eye contact.

The Horse master paused to look Pelle over, making her muscles tense.

“Is there a problem?” The Herald asked with a bite in her voice. She couldn’t help it.

“No, actually. I’ve meet a few Tal-Vashoth before, but you’re the biggest one I’ve seen yet.” Dennet replied mildly.

Pelle didn’t know how to reply to that. She found herself looking at Dennet with a strange look on her face. 

Should she be offended or flattered?

“I wasn’t expecting a mount for myself, Ser.” She grumbled.

Dennet shook his head. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I have horses that are big enough to carry you.”

Well, that was surprising. The Herald let out a little laugh while her mind tried to piece together how big that horse would have to be. Dennet looked up at her, clearly mulling something over.

“I wonder… would you come with me? I have something to show you. All of you can come.”

The group followed Dennet outside to a pasture behind his hut. When Pelle rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. In the middle of a rather large paddock, stood the biggest Hart she had ever seen. 

“I found this guy in the woods when he was a baby,” Dennet didn’t seem to be affected by the Hart’s impressive stature in the slightest. 

Pelle looked around and found that she wasn’t the only person staring with their mouth agape. The Hart had the most interesting coloring she had ever seen. His fur was silver except on his belly and legs. The underside of his belly was black, and his legs from the elbows down faded from silver to grey to black in an ombre effect. Unlike other Harts, he lacked the stripes on the back of his legs and hindquarters. His antlers were huge and sharp and black as obsidian. The Hart turned his head to look at the group, and it was then that Pelle noticed that his eyes were blue. Interesting.

“I haven’t named him yet. He’s mellow enough half the time, but he refuses to take a rider.” Dennet walked up to the Hart and gave him a pat on the shoulder. The Hart bent its neck down and nibbled at Dennet’s coat in what Pelle hoped was an affectionate manner. The damn beast’s shoulder was taller than Dennet’s head. 

“That’s…. one impressive mount, Ser.” The Herald found her eyes glued to the creature.

“I’m glad you like him. I was thinking you needed something special since you’re the Herald of Andraste and all.” Dennet’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. “If you can get him to accept you in the saddle, he’s all yours.”

At first Pelle found herself scowling because he called her ‘Herald’, but her face quickly smoothed out into an excited grin. 

Challenge accepted.

“Wait, you’re going to get on _that_?” Varric asked incredulously. 

“Damn right I am!” Pelle replied before stepping up to the creature. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Cassandra huffed from the fence line. Her arms were crossed. 

Dennet began saddling the Hart and he laughed. “Nonsense, he’s only broken a few bones of my human stable boys. He hasn’t killed anyone yet.” 

Cassandra balked a little, while Pelle and Varric let out a roar of laughter. Solas had stepped outside of the paddock and was now resting against his staff and watching the event from afar. Wise man. 

While Dennet saddled the Hart, Pelle stood at his head and reaching up to scratch him behind his floppy ears. He made a low humming noise, his blue eyes sliding closed and she smirked. Perhaps she could win him over a little by affection? Maybe that would make him less prone to buck her over his head. Maybe.

It wasn’t too long before Dennet finished. He stepped out of the paddock immediately and stood next to Solas with a wide grin on his face. Pelle knew what he wanted. He wanted to see the so-called Herald of Andraste get tossed into the mud. Normally this would have angered her, but instead it only steeled her resolve. She was going to pass this. How hard could it be?

Feeling overly confident, Pelle hooked one of her feet into the stirrup and swung herself onto the saddle. If being a seven-foot-something Qunari made her feel big, she certainly felt like a giant on top of the massive Hart’s back. She had no time to revel in the feeling however, because the Hart immediately burst into motion. Pelle went from sitting normally in the saddle to frantically gripping onto the scruff of his neck in a second flat.

He immediately began to buck and Pelle found herself scrambling for purchase with her hands, but his silver fur was slick and her knees could only squeeze so tight. She tried to lean back to steady herself, but as soon as she did she felt the Harts hindquarters brush the back of her horns because he was kicking so high. So she tried to lean forward instead but almost got a face full of antlers for her trouble when he reared up.

Off somewhere far away, she could her Varric cheering and whooping like an idiot kid. Cassandra was shouting something as well, but because of the wind rushing past her ears and her desire not to get trampled, the Seeker’s words fell on deaf ears.

The Hart jerked to the side violently and almost threw her from the saddle right then. Despite his frantic bucking and sharp turns, Pelle did her best to keep her fleeting hold on him. Twice he kicked so hard that she felt her ass come all the way up off the saddle only to come back down with a painful _slap_ and making her wince. 

That was definitely going to bruise. Whether she won or not, she was going to be feeling it for days to come.

The Hart turned toward the fence line, utterly determined to unseat her, and jumped it in a single bound. Pelle managed to swallow down her surprised yelp, but she was beginning to rue her earlier words. 

“Mind the garden!” Dennet yelled – but too late – The Hart galloped through the garden, his sharp cloven hooves tearing up dirt and flowers in his wake.

Pelle tried to steer him back towards the paddock, but he seemed to have a mind of his own. Snorting, he thundered out of the garden and over the fence only to buck even harder than before. Pelle felt like she was about to be sick. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably. She had to screw her eyes shut to keep out the dizzying way the Hart was twisting, which helped her nausea a little. 

The two of them kept this up for what felt like hours, although of you asked one of the bystanders they would probably say it lasted about ten minutes. Pelle was getting very tired; her hands slipped more often on his neck, but luckily he was tiring as well. He was moving slower, and his tilting had become less violent. 

Everything soon came to a screeching halt. Literally.

The Hart stopped in his tracks, his hooves digging deep ruts into the ground. Clumsy and tired, Pelle fell forward before she could grab onto his neck. Luckily she got snagged on his antlers in the most comical way possible. Instead of landing on the ground, the Herald found herself dangling upside down and looking up at the Hart from an odd angle. Her hips were caught in between his antlers while her stomach and the rest of her spilled out over his forehead and dangling down.

Footfalls could be heard running towards them, but the Hart didn’t move a muscle, so neither did she.

“Makers Breath!” Dennet said and Pelle looked over to look at him upside down.

Varric was there too, but he was clutching at his sides and laughing so hard that he wasn’t making any noise. 

Even Cassandra was walking up to her with a small smile on her face. Solas was the only one who didn’t approach her.

The Hart tilted his head back, which pulled Pelle back up in an upright position, although this time she was sitting on the back of his neck instead of the saddle. He didn’t seem to mind.

“You did it, Herald!” Dennet was practically shouting at her. “I thought he would never take a rider! You’re just as stubborn as he is!”

The Hart let out a low grumble as if he was sighing and Dennet laughed.

“If only you could see what you looked like out there,” Varric gasped, still clutching at his sides.

“The look of surprise on your face! You almost flew off of him twice!”

Pelle let out a low, shaky breath before she carefully placed a hand on the back of the Hart’s head. He hummed in response, making her smile.

It was completely worth it.

“Well, I suppose that’s the closest you’ll get to see a flying Qunari.” Pelle sighed, and Varric guffawed.

“You’ll have my whole stable and farmhands to go with it, Herald.” Dennet mused, nodding. “I’ll come tend to your horses myself. Oh, and he’s all yours, as promised.”

A strange feeling of pride swelled up in the middle of her chest. It grew so large that it felt as if it would burst at any moment. She had done something that no one else was able to do. Who wouldn’t feel a bit of pride at that? Struggling, she managed to get a foot into a stirrup before lowering herself to the ground. Her knees felt weak and her ass and inner thighs were sorer than they had ever been. Varric laughed at her, and Cassandra smirked.

“I take it you’ll be feeling the effects of that power struggle for some time, Herald?” The Seeker asked in an amused tone. So it seemed Cassandra was stern but smiled at other’s misfortune. 

Pelle opened her mouth to say something snappy back, but something hard butted against her back and stopped any words that were forming. Apparently the Hart was wanting some attention. Pelle stroked in between his eyes. He would need a name. She thought for some time, but after only a few minutes she set on an answer.

“I’ll call him Yakul.” 

Yakul lowered his head and nibbled at her hand. It seemed he liked his new name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I named him Yakul because Princess Mononoke is one of my most favorite movies.  
> Like ever.


	7. Rough Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pelle meets The Iron Bull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this took me a while to write cause I have no Beta.

The next few days were such a blur that Pelle could hardly keep up, but as she practically stormed out of the intricate streets of Val Royeaux, two cold hard facts were weighing heavily on her mind. The ‘talk’ with the Chantry had gone horribly wrong and Seeker Lucius was a serious asshole. His sneering face and indifferent tone were still burning like an ember at the back of her head even as she sat down in the tavern back at Haven. She didn’t even have to say anything; the bartender took one look at her and immediately passed her a tankard filled with maker knows what. She wasn’t even able to take a sip of her drink before someone sat down next to her. 

“So, this is the Inquisition, eh?” 

Pelle turned her head to the side to see the little blonde elf Sera sitting next to her. Pelle had picked her up in Val Royeaux, along with a circle mage named Vivianne, though Sera was… unique. Pelle had to follow a trail of red handkerchiefs just to meet her, then she went and stole a whole horde of breeches, making the enemy forces fight in their smalls. The whole scene had Pelle grinning like an idiot through the whole fight. Now that they were back at Haven, though, she wasn’t feeling so sure about her choice. 

“I was expecting it to be more….” Sera trailed off as if to find the proper word, but her eyes glinted mischievously. 

“It’s still pretty new, Sera.” Pelle said into the rim of her tankard. The enclosed container made her voice echo strangely. 

Sera cast her a grin that she couldn’t quite interpret. “I mean it’s all good, innit? I mean you glow, so more will come to the so-called Herald of Andraste.”

Pelle’s lip twitched into a small smile before she could hide her face. It was good to know not everyone thought she was Holy. 

“Herald… we’re going to have to do somethin about that, yeah?” Sera grinned when she noticed Pelle smile. 

“Whatever you like, Sera.” Pelle murmured into her tankard before taking her first sip. It took away her breath and Pelle suppressed a cough.

“Well, see you later, Herald. I’m sure ya prolly have important big hat business and the like.” Sera quipped before pushing away from the table and leaving with the swirl of her red tunic. 

Pelle let out a low sigh through a set of sharp, clenched teeth. Apart from the tavern music and chatter from its patrons, she was _finally_ able to be alone with her thoughts if only for a moment. Pelle was known for her love of solitude, but by her company. No one here knew that she preferred to be alone. Her men she knew the longest had known when she was in one of her moods just by looking at her and they often told the new members to keep them from getting flayed with words. 

A deep ache formed itself into the center in her chest. She took another swallow from her tankard to try to wash it down. It didn’t budge. It only grew bigger. Pelle never really had time to stop and really _think_ about what all happened. She was always too busy off closing rifts or slaying bandits or something utterly time consuming. Should she have a burial? Pelle grimaced at the table. She didn’t know any prayers of any type or any religion. 

It wouldn’t be right for her to just stroll up to a Chantry sister and ask, either. Pelle bit at her bottom lip and pinched it in between her teeth. The sharp pain helped distract her from the ache that was throbbing with every heartbeat. Quietly she nursed her drink and tried to ignore the patrons whispering around her. She could feel their eyes burning trails into her skin as they looked at her. They all called her Herald. Did they even know her name? 

No one cared about Pelle, the former Mercenary captain. They only cared about ‘The Herald of Andraste’ savior to the world and the only one that could deliver them from their doom. They cared about her only because of the flickering green light that glowed hotly on her palm. She hated them. She hated the way they stared at her with adoration. She hated how they tried to reach out and touch her, as if brushing against her silver skin would cure their ailments. She hated it all, a bitter bite that sank its teeth deep into her flesh and dispensing its venom through her veins. 

The Herald ached for the day when she sealed the Breach and became Pelle again, not some touched hero everyone looked to. Until that day came, though, she had to cope, had to hide herself behind a mask made of tolerance and fake smiles. The mask had to be immaculate with no faults or visible cracks. It was going to be hard, but she really had no choice in the matter. As long as the mark branded her, she was stuck.

A cold draft wafted over her back as the tavern door opened, but Pelle didn’t turn. She was too busy drawing patterns into the moisture gathered on the outside of her tankard.

“Is the Herald here?” A foreign voice rang out through the tavern. 

Everything inside the tavern came to a halt, including Pelle’s finger. It was impossible to even brood by herself now. There was a long, drawn out silence before she finally turned her head to see who the person was. Everyonen in the tavern was looking at her, including a newcomer; a man dressed shoulder to toe in plate armor. Pelle’s hand closed dangerously tight on her tankard, which made a strange noise as she squeezed. She waved the man over with her marked hand, the green light dancing off of the walls of the tavern eerily. The man looked all too relieved as he made his way over to her and took a seat.

“Sorry,” He said, and Pelle had to look at him again. At this close up, the man had a slightly feminine face, and even his voice seemed feminine. “I have a message for you.”

“Report,” Pelle growled, forcing her hand to ease its death grip on her drink, “Who are you?”

“Cremisius Aclassi, second in command to the Bull’s Chargers.” The man answered without hesitation. 

Pelle had to admit that she was mildly impressed with him; she’d bite. “Alright, what’s the message for me?”

“I bring you a message from my Commander, Iron Bull. He hears that the Inquisition could use more swords, so he offers to have you see the Bull’s Chargers in action out on the Storm Coast.” Krem paused for only a moment. “We’re the best company you’ll ever find.”

Pelle blinked owlishly at him. Who in their right mind would call themselves Iron Bull? It was probably some human with a Qunari fetish that wore a helmet with horns. She resisted the urge to snort like a real bull. Well, she _had_ to see this. 

“The Inquisition will consider your offer.” Was all that she replied.

Later that day she brought the matter up with Cassandra, who seemed just as miffed to who would call themselves such a thing. Eventually they agreed that it was worth checking out. 

Seriously, though; who would call themselves Iron Bull?

\--------------------------------------------------

Pelle wasn’t sure how to feel about the Storm Coast. It was such a _wet_ place. She wouldn’t have minded if the surrounding air was warmer; a **lot** warmer. The wind howled angrily thanks to the ocean nearby, making it blast cold rain right into the back collar of her armor on multiple occasions. The Herald twitched in her saddle uncomfortably, feeling the freezing water trail down the center of her back. To make matters worse, the rain made her hair stick to her in the most irritating way possible. The white locks refused to stay up in a bun, so instead the soaked hair settled to plastering itself to _everything_. Like her face, her neck, even her armor. It was maddening.

Her followers didn’t seem to be big fans of the Coast either. Cassandra’s face was screwed up into a look of displeasure, but she had remained silent. As the group reached the top of a small slope, though, Varric’s raspy baritone sailed through the air.

“Why does it have to _rain so damn much_?” His voice was barely audible over the crashing waves nearby. 

Pelle ignored him. She was too busy trying to see through the rain at the ground below the slope. Krem had given her the location of a Venatori camp that the Chargers would be assaulting. Before the map she carried had met its soaking doom, she was able to get a rough idea of where this camp was supposed to be. It should be here, or at least close by. A blast of cold rain soaked through her armor and Varric let out a cry of indignation. 

“Because it’s the _sea_ , dwarf. What did you expect it to be like?” The Seeker growled.

“Sandy, sunny with free drinks until I fall over!” 

Despite the cold, Pelle found herself smiling at their bickering. Their arguments were more irritating than not, but every now and then they turned more amusing than infuriating. 

“Well, that is clearly a fantasy. _This_ is reality!” Cassandra waved her hand at the dreary conditions around them and the wind gusted by.

Varric grumbled something back in response, but due to the wild wind and heavy rain his words were lost. 

Pelle was just about to turn Yakul away from the slope when the sound of a loud, bellowing battle roar echoed off the cliffs from the beach below. The sound snatched all of her attention, and once again pale eyes focused hard on the sands beneath her. Through the rain, Pelle could see movement… and a lot of it. The silhouette of a fireball rocketed across, lighting the sand along the way, only to strike an armored foot soldier right in the chest. They were here.

Pelle nudged Yakul’s sides hard and he vaulted off of the slope, his cloven hooves and deft legs making short work of the rocks towards the beach. Within moments Pelle was off of Yakul’s back with her blade bared. The rain was thinner here, which made the whole act of fighting that much easier. All of the Chargers wore matching armor of sorts, so it was rather easy to pick them apart from the Venatori. If she accidentally ran a Charger through, she doubted their leader would take it well. Another fireball arced through the air but only struck her barrier weakly and sizzled out. 

The mage responsible didn’t have enough time to ready another fireball. Pelle had removed his head from his shoulders. The Herald moved through the battlefield like a tempest, swift and strong. None of the Venatori saw her coming until the flash of her golden blade and a spray of blood sealed their fate. Soon the final mage was struck down, forced into the sand by Pelle’s barrier. He struggled against it feebly as it shoved him into the ground, suffocating him. Pelle, bloody and feeling considerably less stressed, strode up to him languidly, not at all feeling rushed to end his suffering. A foot on the back and one easy stroke and he was done, his blood dying the sand a dark red.

Pelle sighed while she wiped the wet hair from her face, accidentally and unknowingly smearing a trail of blood across her cheek. The rain eased up even more. So much, in fact, that she no longer had to strain her eyes to see through it. 

“So glad you could make it, Herald.” Krem approached her from the front. He, like her, was covered in blood but otherwise looked unaffected.

“Wouldn’t miss a chance to kick some heads in,” Pelle replied smoothly, giving him a small smile.

“Damn it’s true!” A deep, booming voice nearly shouted behind her.

Pelle’s spine straitened in her surprise before she turned. After many years of living with humans and elves, she was accustomed to automatically looking down when addressing someone. When she looked down as usual, however, she found herself staring at a very broad, muscular chest instead of someone’s head. It took her almost a full ten seconds to realize what she was looking at, and in that time, she got a _very_ good eyeful of wet skin and pale scars. And muscles. Maker, the muscles!

Feeling nervous and a little hot under the collar, Pelle let her eyes move up. The further up her gaze went, the tinier she felt. Pelle was not small; she was quite large in fact, but whoever this guy was he dwarfed her. Colorless irises took in his scars, the leather pauldron strapped across his massive chest, all the way up to his heavily scarred but handsome face. She quietly took in the black eye patch that covered the worst part of his face before trailing up even further to see his wide-sweeping horns. 

Well… that explained a lot. 

The Qunari looked down at her with a smug smile. “That’s a common reaction that most people tend to share.” 

Pelle then realized that her mouth had been agape and her cheeks were burning with heat that even the chilled rain couldn’t abate. Feeling foolish, she stepped back to give them more space and tried to ignore the fact that her stomach felt like it had swallowed a frantic bird. 

“Iron Bull, I presume?” Her voice was strangled in her attempt to hide her surprise. 

His answering grin told her that she’d failed. “What gave me away?”

So, smug and sarcastic, huh? She could deal with that. If her cheeks stopped blushing, that is. 

“Come, let us talk business over drinks.” Bull motioned towards Krem who was walking up to them with tankards in his hands. By the Void, where had he gotten those??

Drinks in hand, Bull led Pelle over to some rocks before sitting down. The Herald followed him as if in a daze. She felt dizzy and a little unsteady on her feet. Why the hell was she acting like this? Maybe it was because he was bigger than her. _That and the fact he had a growl for a voice and **no shirt** on._ Pelle did her best to push her inappropriate thoughts way before he spoke. She wasn’t interested in that. She told herself she wouldn’t. Her body, however, had different ideas. 

The negotiations were going well; Bull liked strong drinks and he had some damn good fighters. Pelle was becoming more and more interested the more time passed. They were expensive, but they were well trained and knew what they were doing. Why wouldn’t she take them? Pelle was just about to hire them when Bull said something that shattered the whole thing.

“There’s something I need to tell you. Are you familiar with the Ben-Hassrath?” He seemed so at ease talking about it.

Everything seemed to stop for her. She felt her entire body tense as an unwelcome memory of a whip came to mind. This seemed to show on her face because Bull began to look at her differently.

“Intimately.” The word was heavy, full of anger as it left her lips.

“Well… that’s us. Me, to be exact. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition and give reports about your progress on sealing that gaping hole. My people want to be assured they don’t need to invade to keep it under control.”

By that time, Pelle had already dropped the tankard she had been given, her face turning stoic as memories rushed into her skull. Everyone noticed. 

“Are… are you alright, Herald?” Cassandra asked worriedly from her side. “You look… tense.”

Tense wasn’t the right word. Furious didn’t even shine a light to what she was feeling. Hatred, fury and pain all joined into one and pooled into her belly, heating her insides to near combustion. Pelle ground her sharp teeth together and her eyes narrowed. Ben-Hassrath. Ben-fucking-Hassrath. He was a blind follower to the Qun. He was no ally. 

Any attraction or uncertainty she had felt before was burned into nothing by her anger, which was only fueled the more Iron Bull looked at her with his one good eye. He was waiting for something. An outburst, perhaps? If so he would be disappointed. Pelle was too controlled for that. Her barrier, however, hissed angrily around her. Everyone became more uncomfortable the longer she stayed silent, her eyes staring heatedly into Bull’s face. 

“I have no interest in a Qunari spy. Leave.” Her voice was a low growl, filled to the brim with aggression as she tried to keep her anger in check. She wanted to say so much more, like ‘Leave or I’ll remove your head’ or something much more colorful. Her pride didn’t allow her, though. 

She heard Bull suck in a breath, but she was moving away already, whistling for Yakul. The Hart trotted up to her immediately, his fur looking more like wet metal instead of hair thanks to the rain. 

“Herald, wait!” Cassandra called after her. “We could use his reports! He’s offering to share his intel with us! He could be useful!” 

Pelle stopped in her tracks and Cassandra ran full force into her back. She didn’t move an inch. For a long time she just stared at Yakul’s fur as if it would give her the answers she needed. Ever since that day, Pelle swore to herself that she would never see another Ben-Hassrath again. If she did, she would kill them on sight. Now there was one in front of her, but she was too angry to properly function. She was useless.

Now her companions, who didn’t know about her past, actually _wanted_ her to take him in. They **wanted** a Qunari spy in their ranks. Did they even know what that meant at all? Pelle felt her right hand spark as her emotions peaked dangerous levels. Fine. If they wanted him there, they could have him. She didn’t like it, but she would make sure he got the hint once she calmed herself.

“Fine. You want him, then he’s your responsibility.” Pelle climbed onto Yakul’s back as Cassandra trotted back over to Iron Bull. He hadn’t moved, but his one good eye was staring intently at her. He was still sporting his crooked, cocky smile, as if he found all of this funny. 

“Just so you know,” Bull called out, “I have no problems with you because you’re Tal-Vashoth. You’re not a problem.”

Pelle felt her spine stiffen at his words and she cast him a hateful stare. “Well, **_you are_**.”

With that, she kicked Yakul and galloped back to camp, leaving the rest of her companions to deal with Bull. 

It was decided. Pelle _hated_ the Storm Coast.


	8. Tolerance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pelle tries her best to endure Bull's presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was more fun to write than I thought it'd be.

Pelle wasn’t sure what she had done to Cassandra, but the Herald was absolutely positive the Seeker was intentionally fucking with her. It wasn’t even an hour after they had arrived back in Haven before Cassandra approached Pelle to tell her that she was assigning Iron Bull to accompany her on missions. 

_”He’d do a good job on protecting you, Herald.”_ She had said with her usual expression. 

Pelle had nearly throttled the Seeker right then. She insisted that she didn’t **need** protection; she was _perfectly_ capable of protecting her own damn ass. Alas her very loud and colorful protests had fallen on deaf ears. 

Cassandra had merely responded with _”He wears plate and he’s bigger than you,”_

As if that fucking mattered at all. To make matters even worse, the giant Qunari insisted on pitching his tent right beside the stables. In doing so, Pelle was nearly forced to see him even when she was trying to get some fresh air. She couldn’t even go and visit Yakul and within the first week the stable boys were complaining on how ill of a mood the Hart was becoming. If Iron Bull wasn’t lurking out by the stables, he was taking up an absurd amount of space in her favorite place; the tavern. 

Not only could she not walk about without feeling tense – she had to bribe Varric to scout ahead just so she could enjoy a damn drink. Many people found her behavior towards the Mercenary as amusing. Some even dared suggesting that he bothered her, but the looks on their faces and the tones they used suggested something else. This only made her hate him worse. Just being around him made Pelle want to remove a limb or two from his body. Maybe add to the collection of scars he had acquired. 

_”Remind me again why I need to check the tavern?”_ Varric had asked one evening after a particularly stressful day.

They had assaulted a bandit stronghold only a day prior, where Bull proceeded to find a better piece of armor. Not only had he found said armor, but he then proceeded to _**undress**_ right then and there to put it on. In front of everybody. She had never been so flustered in her entire life.

Pelle had barely resisted to urge to shake the dwarf to death. _”Because I need a damn drink and if I see that lumbering ass today he’ll lose his other eye for sure!”_

_”I didn’t know you found naked Qunari to be so troubling, Herald.”_ Varric had laughed before ducking into the tavern and away from Pelle’s sparking fingers. 

Now, over three weeks after Pelle had been forced to tolerate Iron Bull’s presence at Haven, the war council was preparing to attempt another negotiation with the Templars. That meant that she would have to talk to Seeker Lucius again. The thought made her stomach cramp and her fingers tightened on the war table. She was staring intently at the marker that showed the position of Therinfal Redoubt. If she could make it burst into flame, maybe her council wouldn’t make her go face that asshole again. It was no use, though. Pelle couldn’t cast magic.

“Have you even been listening, Herald?” It was Josephine, who was staring at her incredulously. 

White eyelashes flicked up and pale eyes met brown. “No.”

Pelle was so tense and feeling so foul she didn’t even bother to hide her lack of attention. 

Josephine sighed loudly and shifted the board she carried on her hip. “Some Orlesion houses have agreed to come with us to Therinfal. With their influence—“ 

Pelle didn’t catch the rest. Her mind was wandering off again, thinking on how she was going to teach Yakul how to kneel down on his front legs so she could get on him without having to climb. Normally she didn’t mind – she actually liked it – but some days she was just too tired. Josephine noticed immediately and stopped trying to explain the situation, if not only for the moment. She could tell that Pelle wasn’t at her best. Iron Bull’s constant presence had made wearing her ‘Herald Mask’ that much harder and her emotions were bleeding through the cracks.

Pelle quickly cooled her hands and pressed them into the burning skin on her face. She needed _something._ The problem was, she didn’t know _what_. The pressing need and lack of knowledge only made it that much worse. 

“You’ll depart for Therinfal tomorrow, Herald. I suggest you get a good night’s sleep.” Josephine’s voice was kind and full of concern. 

Pelle felt a prickle of aggravation, followed by a hint of uncertainty. She didn’t know the Ambassador that well, but what she had been able to gather so far, the woman was kind hearted and meant well. Even with that in mind, the Herald wasn’t sure how to react to someone who was actually… well… _concerned_ for her. She didn’t know how to react to such behavior.

The meeting was dismissed and Pelle found herself walking through Haven, although she didn’t know exactly where she was headed. The Qunari did her best to smile when people kneeled as she passed or called out ‘Herald!’ with reverence. She did, however, quickly maneuver her large body away from outstretched fingers seeking purchase on her skin. Pelle was getting better at ignoring verbal displays of worship, but people trying to touch her crossed the line. 

It took a little longer to move through the town than she would have liked, but afterward the Herald stood on the deck on the opposite side of the frozen lake outside of Haven. It was here that she let her guard down; let herself remove the mask of the Herald.

She became Pelle again, a Qunari with strange coloring and a body that showed the signs of fatigue. Her shoulders slumped, and her normally strait back slouched. When she was the Herald, she carried herself with impressive posture. She kept her back strait, her shoulders squared and her chin up. Pelle the Merc carried herself the same way, but she could allow herself to relax. The Herald could not. The Herald had to be impeccable; showing strength and determination at all times without tiring.

Pelle let down her hair with a sigh and shook it loose before placing her hands on the railing of the deck and allowing it to bear her weight. She rolled her shoulders and head, feeling the tense muscles there loosen up. 

Sighing again – this time in relief – she lowered herself down until her elbows rested on the railing instead of her hands and stared out blankly at the ice before her. She didn’t think about anything. She didn’t _want_ to. Sometimes she just liked to go to a quiet place and linger. In a place like this, it was easy to forget your duties, or the people depending on you. She wasn’t the Herald here – or even Pelle – she was no one, and it was lovely.

“So,” The familiar voice cut through the silence and made Pelle’s blood run cold. “The Herald of Andraste doesn’t like being the Herald?”

Her mask was back on as quickly as she had dropped it. Her muscles tensed and she forced her eyes shut against the vision of the ice. She couldn’t avoid him forever. He _was_ in the same camp as her. It was only a matter of time until they crossed paths.

Although meeting Bull here of all places was making all of her alarms go off at once. Had he followed her? He didn’t seem like one to go for leisurely strolls in the snow with no shirt on.

Right. She shouldn’t be thinking about the no-shirt part.

“What do you want, Bull?” She had done her best to calm her breathing from her earlier shock.

“Just checking up on you, boss.” She could _hear_ him smiling behind her, “I **was** hired to protect you, after all.”

“In the field, not back at base in a remote location.” Pelle couldn’t keep the bite from her voice.

Couldn’t he get the hint? Was he so damn daft that she needed to scream it into is face?

“I don’t need someone shadowing me, least of all you.” 

Bull became quiet behind her and Pelle felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle at the uncomfortable silence. She didn’t move. She didn’t apologize. Why should she? She didn’t want him here and he insisted on coming around her. He was lucky she hadn’t given into her hateful urge to snuff him out. He was bigger than her, yes, probably much stronger than her physically, but she had _barriers_ that she could use to pin him down. One swift flash of golden light and he’d—

Pelle’s thoughts froze in place when the sound of creaking wood caressed her ears. His footsteps were heavy, and one of them made a clanking noise, kind of like he was wearing a metal boot. Left side – the same side he was missing an eye. She filed that information away for later use. She was just about to turn around to glare at him when her stomach dropped to the floor and her heart stuttered before going into hyper drive.

She hadn’t felt him touching her at first. He had apparently placed his hand on the back of her right shoulder, directly onto the nerveless skin of her back. He had moved his hand, and his fingers slid up towards the top of her shoulder, and it was then that she felt him.

Her reaction was immediate, quick and brutal. With a savage snarl she turned, her white hair whipping around as she faced him, her pale eyes filled with rage. He touched her. A Ben-Hassrath dared touch her. Her barrier screamed to life and slammed into the huge Qunari full force, only to knock him clear off of his feet. Bull landed with a loud _oof_ on his back a good fifteen feet away from where they just were, his one eye looking stunned and surprised. She was next to him in a second flat, looking more like a wild beast than a person.

“Was that really –“ Bull started to speak, but Pelle shoved her barrier down on top of him, forcing the air from his lungs and stopping his speech.

The Ben-Hassrath’s face went from stunned to furious, but he was unable to sit up or speak no matter how hard he struggled. The Heralds golden light of a blade shot from her right forearm, sparking and sizzling as if it itself was furious at the man.

“Do you know what happened to the last Ben-Hassrath that touched me?” Her voice was a low hiss, barely audible over the crackling of her blade.

Iron Bull didn’t say anything – couldn’t say anything – so she continued.

“I killed them. Just as I’m going to kill—“

“Herald!!!”

Cullen’s voice shouted from the right of her. It was that voice that stilled her hand; her blade was a mere two inches over Bull’s chest. Pelle tilted her head to the side, teeth bared into a snarl. Her vision was laced with red, and she felt her heart furiously pumping the savage rage through her veins. Even through the red haze she could see the commander approaching her slowly, his hands raised. Other soldiers were gathering around as well. Apparently she had screamed loud enough to have half the Inquisition crashing down on her ears.

“Commander,” She growled, and Cullen swallowed thickly, his honey-gold eyes looking at her hissing blade nervously. 

“I don’t know what Bull did to… earn this, but might you not… end his life?” Cullen’s voice wavered a little. Being an ex-templar, she could only imagine how uneasy she made him. 

Bull was beginning to turn blue in the face, she noticed, so Pelle lifted her barrier from him and the Qunari sucked in a large breath, his huge chest expanding to near capacity. 

“Sa—“ He coughed, narrowing his one good eye up at her. Somehow he managed to keep his composure even after almost being crushed to death. “Saarabas…”

Pelle growled at him through clenched teeth. Saarabas: Dangerous Thing. It was what the Qun called their mages as they sewed their mouths shut. The rage that had begun to subside roared to life again as she heard the memories whisper the word like a curse. Before her mind could comprehend what she was doing, her body moved towards him, her blade raised.

“Herald!!” Cullen shouted, snapping Pelle out of her fury.

She retracted her blade just before her closed fist crashed into Bull’s face. To her dismay and shock, she felt at least two fingers break on impact and white hot pain seared up her arm. Maker he had a hard head! Bull’s head snapped back and he had to shake his head before he grunted though a split lip.

“That all you got, boss?” He growled, his voice issuing the silent challenge. 

Pelle’s adrenaline dulled the pain to where she could ignore her broken fingers as she grabbed Bull’s chin, feeling his stubble with her smooth fingers. 

The calm tone she used only seemed to make the threat more real, “Do not ever... ever touch me again. The Commander may not be around next time.” 

She shoved Bull’s head back, ignoring the sharp pain shooting through her hand and stepped over him, leaving Cullen and the rest to deal with the Quanri. She was only two steps inside Haven’s gates when Cassandra came running, her face full of alarm.

“What happened?! I heard screaming.” 

“It’s dealt with,” Pelle replied flatly, examining her hand as she walked. Now that the adrenaline was subsiding, the pain was beginning to grow and the knuckles on her hand were swelling grotesquely. 

“Maker’s breath – is your hand broken? What did you do?” Cassandra crowded her, making Pelle’s aggravation twitch.

“I busted the Iron Bull's face.” Pelle pushed past Cassandra in search for a healing potion in the Chantry.

"Sweet Maker, why would you do something like that?" The Seeker asked.

"He touched me. I doubt he'll try again. If he does, he's a fucking idiot." Pelle replied.

“She almost ran him through with her… _sword_ first. I couldn’t keep her from hitting him, though.” Cullen had joined them.

This only made Cassandra hound her more. “You what? I know you do not like to be touched but that’s –“

“Going too far?” Pelle interrupted, glowering at her.

“Well, yes!” Cassandra snapped, looking furious.

Pelle’s self-control was beginning to fray at the edges again. No one understood why she reacted the way she did. No one **understood** her. She didn’t expect them to. 

“I’m not going to explain myself. I didn’t want him here but you brought him anyway. It was only a matter of time before there was a confrontation.” She turned away, signaling that she was done with the conversation. “I’m going to get my hand bandaged.”

Later, even as Pelle tolerated Mother Giselle’s fingers on her skin, the Herald was smiling.

Even though she had broken her hand, punching that smug bastard was intensely satisfying.

She’d do it again in a heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason why Pelle acts the way she does. Don't worry, she's not just a bitch.


	9. Bull's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull stews in his own thoughts about the Herald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had trouble writing this chapter because it was my first time writing Bull's POV.  
> I hope I got it right!

“So….” Krem said over the rim of his tankard. His elbow nudged into Iron Bull’s side insistently, earning him a low grunt, “Are you going to tell me who busted up your face? Or am I gonna have to ask around to find out?”

Bull rolled his singular eye at him, but didn’t answer. He didn’t answer for two reasons; one: his damn face hurt. The Herald hit harder than a shield bash to the face and broken his nose and busted his lip wide open. Two: he was too busy stewing in his own thoughts to really pay his second in command any attention. He wasn’t really _brooding_ per se, but he was definitely kicking himself for being a total idiot. He had approached her with a plan all laid out in his head and she had to go on and scare the living shit out of him. He had lost all his damn composure and called her a Saarabas from shock.

Bull barely kept himself from physically smacking his head on the table. What had he missed? He was sure he read her right from the first time he met her on the wet shores of that beach. When he had heard that the Herald of Andraste was a unique-looking Qunari, he had spat his drink all over Rocky, much to the dwarf’s displeasure. He didn’t think that the Herald would have come herself, but when he saw her come thundering into the battle on top of that huge Hart, he knew it was true.

Unique looking had been an understatement. The Herald was a damn walking enigma. She had no color to her at all save for the silver tint in her skin, which looked smoother than anything he had ever seen. He was able to tell from the visible scars adorning her face and throat that she had seen her share of battles, though she couldn’t have been very old; mid-twenties at best. She had been raised in Thedas her whole life; her movements had been precise and calculated so she didn’t accidentally hurt any of her smaller companions. The way she had held her body suggested that she was accustomed to the weight of leadership and power, though he doubted she was honed to the amount of the Herald. She hid it well; Bull had heard that the Herald was the leader of a Mercenary band before the Conclave and he’d be damned if it wasn’t true. 

When he had finally gotten a good look at her face, he had felt a small tremor run down his spine when those eyes met his. The lack of pigment in her irises gave her gaze a natural piercing look, but even after that her eyes made him feel as if she was looking _into_ him, not at him.

It was kind of hot. He couldn’t deny that she had been beautiful— **is** beautiful; like an exotic animal that no one knew anything about—a new species. 

_An exotic animal with **teeth**_ , Bull thought bitterly as the center of his face gave a painful throb. 

Her initial reaction had been amusing. The way she had looked up at him with an almost vulnerable expression hinted that she was accustomed to being the largest thing around. He doubted she ever had to look up at anyone her entire adult life. He could have sworn that she had been blushing, but it was difficult to tell due to her skin’s pigment and the surrounding rain. The moment Ben-Hassrath had left his lips, though, everything changed. Her eyes had tightened, and a look of sheer anger hinted at the edges of her face before she had schooled her features to a stoic expression. Her face hid her emotions well, but her eyes had betrayed her. A staggering amount of rage, fear and pain shone from her irises all at once; so much, in fact, that it had taken him aback. She had been violated in some way by the Qun. Torture? Conversion? He had looked at her curled horns, but due to the rain he wasn’t able to see if they had been mutilated or altered. Her metal caps could have hidden the damage, though. 

The next few days had been… tense. When Cassandra had told him that he’d be accompanying the Herald out on the field, Bull had been stumped.

_”You are aware how she feels about me, right?”_ He had asked casually, trying to keep his cool.

_”I am **very** aware. It is impossible to ignore, but I would feel more at ease if she had someone bigger than her watching her back in the field.”_ Cassandra had replied coolly, _”I know she is more than capable of defending herself, but having someone there in case the worst came to pass would be wise. She is, as you know, very important.”_

It was true that the Herald didn’t need protection; she was no innocent maiden that flinched when someone brandished a sword at her. Bull had watched her tear into enemies with a gush of blood while their attempts to strike her bounced away from her or missed entirely. He’d never admit it to anyone, but seeing her dance through the field with blood soaked in her hair made him painfully aroused. He had to adjust himself on multiple occasions and resorted to releasing his tension on the barmaids back in Haven. He even had his way with a Chantry Sister, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to touch that silver skin; he wanted to run his fingers over the ridges of her scars. The fact that she seemed unobtainable only made his hunger that much worse.

Bull couldn’t shake the thought that the Herald had been tortured in her earlier years, or something close to it. When he’d seen her walking away from Haven’s gates earlier that day, Bull saw the opportunity to show her that he wasn’t like the others; that he could be trusted. So he’d followed her. Doing so made him pass by Cullen, who’d looked mildly alarmed.

_”I wouldn’t follow her, if I was you,”_ The commander had said, eyebrows raised. _”It’s no secret that she doesn’t care much for you.”_

_”I’m aware,”_ Bull had grunted back, and Cullen had turned away with a deep frown.

He knew she didn’t like to be touched; he’d watched her dance away from any form of contact on multiple occasions. When she had to get touched, the Herald tolerated it with a visible look of disdain behind those white eyelashes. Even knowing this, he had touched her anyway. He remembered feeling the hard expanse of her back though her shirt. She hadn’t moved, and Bull could still remember the sickening way his stomach sank to the floor. She couldn’t feel him. 

He couldn’t remember much of what happened next. One second he was shifting his fingers, the next he’d been flat on his back on the icy ground with his head spinning and the Herald standing over him. He will never forget the savage look on her face; the way her full lips had twisted into a snarl. Bull had tried to lighten up the situation immediately, but lost his breath when she’d somehow pinned him with a crushing force. Bull could count on one hand how many times he had ever truly been afraid for his life, but when she summoned her blade she used to rend through armor and flesh alike, he had been afraid. 

Bull shuddered on his stool and closed his eye. Even now he could feel the heat of the crackling light over his heart. After it was all said and done, it was Cullen that had stopped her. Bull had never been so grateful to someone in his entire life. He didn’t know why the Commander had decided to follow, but Bull was damn glad he did. He’d have to buy the man a drink sometime. 

Then of course Bull had to go and fuck it up worse and call her Saarabas like a total idiot. Bull’s face throbbed angrily at him and he opened his eye, coming back to reality and seeing his comrades laughing at his stupidity. They didn’t know that he almost bit the dust, but it was best they didn’t. It wouldn’t be wise for everyone to think that the Herald of Andraste was volatile. People were scared of her enough for being a Qunari mage already.

“You don’t know?” Sera was saying from the side, mug in hand. Her huge elf-eyes were wide and glittering with mirth. 

“You know?” Krem pressed, looking even more excited, “Who was it? Did you see?”

Sera cackled, her legs swinging freely beneath her seat on the tabletop across from Krem. Varric was off to the side writing on some papers, but it was evident he was listening in.

“Why, it was none other than Lady Silverite!” Sera announced, but Krem looked stumped.

“Who?”

Sera scoffed and waved her hand – the hand with the mug – dismissively and sloshed her drink all over the table. “Ya know, Lady Silverite! The Herald!” 

“The Herald!?” Krem parroted, his brown eyes widening to impossible proportions before tilting to look back up at Bull. “The fuck did you do to get the Herald of Andraste to break your nose, chief?”

“You shoulda seen it!” Sera continued, clearly buzzed, “She just… _POW_ right in the kisser!” 

The elf moved her arms sharply, as if imitating a right hook and spilling even more of her drink—some of it splashing on Bull’s face. He reached up to wipe it off but quietly hissed when his fingers applied pressure to the abused bridge of his nose. Stitches had insisted that Bull let him heal it, but the Qunari refused. He did allow Stitches to set his nose back in place and stop the bleeding, but that was it. He had misjudged the severity of a situation and it had almost gotten him killed. He’d wear this injury until it healed on its own.

“Hey, tiny.” Varric called from his table.

When Bull looked up he noticed the impish look the dwarf was giving him. 

“You know that invisible barrier the Herald keeps around her?”

Bull cast Varric a dark look. “Of course.”

The dwarf grinned before laughing, “Do yourself a favor and don’t go prodding at it.”

Krem and Sera both started laughing in earnest and Bull cracked a lopsided grin despite himself and got to his feet.

“Yeah, yeah. Noted.”

Bull moved his way out of the tavern, feeling drained and ready for sleep. It was getting late; the sun was already disappearing behind the snow capped mountains. The dying light made the Breach overhead look even more menacing then usual. Bull glowered at it as he walked. He hated demons and that thing spat them out like crazy. The sooner they closed the damned thing the better. 

As Bull approached his tent, he saw Harritt fussing over something at his shop. When the blacksmith turned to grab something, a flash of white hair made Bull pause. The Herald was sitting on top of a large crate with her right elbow propped up on her knee. Her other elbow rested against the stone fence surrounding Harritt’s forge while the blacksmith toiled over something on her right arm. Bull knew the Herald had broken her hand when she’d punched him – he had heard it – so he grew curious at what was happening, though he kept his distance. When Harritt moved again, Bull saw it; a black metal gauntlet that reached the Herald’s elbow. 

The fingers of the gauntlet were hooked on the ends, making the Herald look as if she had a set of claws on her right hand and Bull felt himself laugh and shake his head. Her blade was already deadly enough; she didn’t need extra ripping power. Harritt seemed finished and stepped back, giving Bull the perfect view of the Herald while she curled and extended her fingers experimentally. Even from here Bull could see the pain flare in her eyes when she moved the digits, although her face remained calm. She really had a lot of practice on hiding her emotions from people. If Bull didn’t have his training, he would have thought that she wasn’t in any pain at all. 

The Herald’s hand sparked and her golden blade extended. Bull thought that it would tear the gauntlet asunder, but it didn’t. She wiggled her fingers some more before smiling and the blade was gone as quickly as it came. Bull felt his chest tighten at the sight of her genuine smile. He wasn't going to give up. It was decided: she was going to be one hell of a boss.


	10. Champions of the Just

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pelle meets with Seeker Lucius despite her concerns.
> 
> Chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains spoilers of the Templar story line.
> 
> If you haven't played through it, I highly recommend that you do.

It turns out the gauntlet had been a good idea. Pelle learned early on that she should trust her gut on most things. When she was young she ignored her instincts, and every time there were some major repercussions, like getting in a fight with an inebriated dwarf that had an axe bigger than him. How he managed to wield that thing was beyond her, but that redheaded bastard nearly took her arm off with it a few times. Ever since then, the Qunari made a decision to follow her gut, much like how people followed their moral compass.

Maybe it was a Qunari thing, but she possessed almost an animalistic instinct, and it had kept her out of a lot of trouble over the years. The only time she didn’t was when she took the job for the Conclaive… and look how **that** turned out. When they had last met, something about Seeker Lucius was off to her. I mean, no one could be _that_ much of an asshole normally, right? The gauntlet was a safety measure in case things got physical in Therinfal Redoubt, though Pelle doubted Lucius was hardly as dangerous as fighting a rabid bear or deflecting Vint arrows in the rain.

Cassandra seemed to take the precaution personally. Perhaps the Seeker thought Pelle was insulting her order or something. The Herald didn’t know; reading people wasn’t really her thing.

 _”I do not see why it is necessary,”_ Cassandra had stated the night before. _”We are going there to talk. Not to fight.”_

Pelle was perched on the stone wall surrounding Harritt’s forge, broken hand propped up on one knee. _”I’m not going there with the intent to fight, Cassandra,”_ Pale eyes had looked past the blacksmith’s bright red mustache to look the dark haired woman in the face. _”I want to be prepared if something were to happen. I know nothing of this guy, and even you said he was acting strange. And you knew him already.”_

Harritt’s head had moved forward and blocked the Seeker’s view of the Herald’s face. The blacksmith had been making some final adjustments on the gauntlet protecting the Qunari’s broken hand. He’d been at it for a while now.

Cassandra had made an irritated noise in the back of her throat before shifting to see the pale giant once more. _”I know but—“_

Pelle had raised her good hand, stopping the Seeker from speaking any further. _”I’m not going to start any shit, but if they attack me, I **will** defend myself.”_

Cassandra had glowered at her then, but sighed shortly after. _”That’s fair… I just hope it doesn’t come to that.”_

Pelle remembered how unsettled she felt by that phrase. Her instincts were telling her that something bad was going to happen, and she didn’t have the heart to tell Cassandra that.

Sometimes… just sometimes, Pelle hated being right. With a loud grunt, she pulled her blade from the spine of the mutated creature that had once been a Templar. Another leapt up behind her, and she spun on the spot, raising her blade in an upward arc that split the monstrosity into two with one strike. The Templar screeched, spraying the pale Qunari with a liberal coating of blood before falling to the floor with a wet thud. Pelle made a face, her nose crinkling at the smell and tried to wipe it off, but only succeeded in smearing it around. 

The scent of the twisted Templar’s blood was just as bad as his looks. Iron Bull and Varric were off to the side, standing over their own pile of fallen bodies. Bull’s axe was lodged deeply in the spine of one, which flopped about on the soiled stone floor as the giant Qunari tried to remove it with force. Muscles twitching in a distracting way, he tried and failed, before standing upright with an annoyed huff. 

Pelle made her way over to Cassandra, who was staring in shock at the scenery before her. Her shield was lowered, stained and dirty, the tip of her blade resting on the ground. 

”Cassandra, where is the Lord Seeker?” The Herald questioned, but the Seeker didn’t move. She remained rooted in place, dark eyes lost. 

“Cassandra,” Pelle repeated, her large frame drawing closer. When she didn’t respond again, a black gauntleted hand reached out to grasp the woman’s shoulder and gave her a quick shake. 

Cassandra’s eyes snapped to her hand, which Pelle let drop immediately. “We need to find the Lord Seeker if we are to stop this.” The Herald continued, her free hand motioning to the gore surrounding them. “You’ve been here before, right?”

The Seeker closed her eyes and took a breath before answering. “Only once, but I do believe I know where to find the Lord Seeker.”

Pelle looked behind her at Varric and Bull. “Let’s go.” 

“Hey, tiny; try putting your foot on his back before you pull. That might work out better for you.” Varric stated behind her in an amused tone.

The Herald walked away, following Cassandra as grunting noises followed by the victorious sound of _’Ah-hah!’_ sounded behind her. The group followed Cassandra through the ancient building, fighting off groups of twisted soldiers and rescuing those untouched by the corruption. 

After a particularly rough battle, Pelle leaned on a nearby wall to catch a quick rest while Cassandra ushered the surviving Templars off the battlefield. Varric pulled a crossbow bolt from the head of a nearby fallen creature, and Bull was glowering about. 

_**”Come, I would know you.”**_ A voice suddenly said, distorted and loud.

Pelle jumped to her feet, pale eyes searching for the owner of such a tone. Was she hearing things? 

“Did you hear that?” The Herald questioned Cassandra, who gave her a long look before slowly answering.

“I heard nothing. Are you alright?”

The Qunari paused, eyes narrowing on the Seeker’s sharp face before swallowing and giving a short nod. Perhaps this place was starting to get to her. Hearing things wasn’t a good sign, especially when one was a Mage. Pelle had never met a demon face to face until recently, but she had a sinking suspicion a demon might have some part in what was going on. The last thing she needed was a demon trying to possess her.

They carried on, ascending a few flights of stairs.

 ** _”Show me what you are!”_** The voice was back again, this time even louder. 

Pelle scowled, eyes searching but found nothing. What was going on? Why could no one hear that voice? It was impossible to miss. They couldn’t be lying, could they? The Herald cast Iron Bull a dark, accusing stare. He looked back at her, his one good eye gazing at her over his busted nose and mouth. Hackles rising, she looked away. No, they wouldn’t be lying. They would be just as alarmed if they heard the same voice. Still didn’t explain why she was the only one able to hear it. Perhaps it was because she was a Mage? That was an unsettling thought.

As they neared the top of the stairs, the voice spoke again. **_”The Herald of Andraste, it’s time we were better acquainted.”_**

So whatever the thing the voice belonged to was waiting for them. Pelle’s muscles tightened at the thought. Her fists clenched hard enough to turn her knuckles white and her arm sparked in anticipation.

At the top of the stairs, in front of a pair of double wooden doors, a figure stood with his back turned to them. The Qunari paused at the mouth of the stairs, her eyes glaring into the figure’s back. It looked a lot like Seeker Lucius. If so, why would he just be standing there with his back turned all by himself? Pelle didn’t like it. Her gut was telling her to keep away from him. 

Despite her better judgment, Pelle stepped closer to Lucius, her body coiled like a spring ready to strike. He didn’t move as she approached him, which only made her feel more uneasy. Her blade sparked to life, heating her hand, ready to strike him down should he move aggressively. He still didn’t move when she was right behind him, so with great care she reached out with her left hand to turn him around.

Before her fingers could even touch his shoulder, the human suddenly burst into motion. He spun around on the spot, turning so fast he made Pelle’s quick reflexes look slow. The Herald growled, jerking away from him as her blade swung down to put an end to the Lord Seeker, but he followed, pale hands grabbing her by the throat and dragging her forward. 

Her free hand grabbed at his fingers, her nails digging into flesh as she tried to pry his hands off her, her face scrunched up in anger. Her blade swung forward, but a wall of green appeared behind Lucius, replacing the door that had once been there. 

“Herald!” 

Pelle didn’t know who shouted her name, but boots could be heard pounding on stone towards them. They wouldn’t reach them in time.

 

“At last…” Lucius hissed gleefully, his sickly face twisted into a grotesque grin as he pulled the Herald of Andraste and Pelle the Merc through the wall of green, swallowing them whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is my first chapter after a much too long break from writing.
> 
> I hope it is still well - received.
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone's support, and I'm sorry for vanishing.


	11. Green with Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pelle meets the Envy demon face to face and is forced to remember the darkest memories of her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is a rather heavy chapter as it touches base on some dark subjects, such as past rape and torture. It's also quite graphic.
> 
> So if things like that bother you, I recommend you don't read.

There was nothing like it – this feeling. It was near impossible to describe. It was as if Pelle was falling. Her stomach was lurching; her world spinning - confusion. Nausea made her stomach churn and the Qunari felt as if she’d been stained from the inside out. Yet, she was not falling. Her feet were planted firmly to the ground. Her knees felt weak, but she was standing. As to what she was standing in… was yet to be discovered. What Pelle saw made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Goosebumps trailed up her skin, and she had to suppress a shiver. Bodies littered the ground; some were on their knees, heads thrown back, others lay face first on the stone. Some were curled up into a defensive position. All of them were grotesquely burnt.

The stench of seared flesh was so strong it made Pelle gag and she had to cover her face with her arm. Unbidden thoughts of the Conclave came to mind, and made her pause. Wait. This was exactly like the conclave was… all those weeks ago. Pelle had nightmares about all the burnt faces for days, and there was no way she was ever going to forget them. Pale eyes searched, and she felt like she was going to be sick. This **was** the Conclave, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Grass grew up through the stone, and pillars made of the same stone grew upwards so high Pelle couldn’t see where they ended due to the thick, green fog swirling about her.

What the hell was going on?

She wandered forward cautiously, looking around her, wondering where her team was. Where was Lucius? Cassandra? Verric? That asshole Bull? Their absence was unsettling, to say the least, and the Qunari couldn’t help but wonder how the void she managed to wind up in this… nightmare. 

It was about this time that she’d heard the sound; a harsh, low breathing. It sounded close, so dangerously near that it seemed behind her. Spinning, Pelle confirmed two things; one: she wasn’t alone, and two: whatever was here was indeed not behind her.

“Show yourself,” Pelle growled through clenched teeth, “I tire of your games.”

A blood-chilling cackle echoed through the nightmare, and then it spoke, its pitch distorted and inhuman. _**”Is that so, Herald of Andraste?”**_

A shadow moved in the distance, just out of reach of the light the torches anchored to the columns produced. The Qunari squinted against the darkness, trying to see just what was lurking out of sight. The shadow stepped into the light, and Pelle’s eyebrows disappeared into her hair. Leliana stared back at her, arms behind her back, a dark grin on her face. But… it wasn’t Leliana. It couldn’t be.

“What trickery is this?” Pelle growled. Her fingers sparked gold and the visage of the Inquisition’s Spymaster smiled disarmingly.

**_”Is this shape useful?”_** It asked. Its voice made Pelle’s insides itch, **_”Will it let me know you?”_**

The cold sensation of dread curled into the base of Pelle’s stomach. She approached the… thing, the fire from the torches reflecting off the metal on her horns. Each step she took forward, the thing took a step back, staying a certain amount of distance away from the large Qunari. 

**_”Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker,”_** Not Leliana said, eyes glinting, **_”What juicy memories can I drag into the light?”_**

Far off, the sound of a blood curdling, painful scream sounded. Pelle stopped. Whoever it was, they were in an unimaginable amount of pain. The sharp crack of a whip sounded, and the scream returned in earnest. The Quanri flinched, her whole body tensing at the terrible sound. That voice - that was her voice. The whip cracked again and the Herald flinched again, taking a step back. Her back began to hurt with phantom pain. The burning – the splitting of skin. 

Rage mixed with nausea bubbled inside her, and her blade sparked to life angrily. “I’ll kill you,” She breathed through clenched teeth, fighting back the urge to hurl.

The demon cackled, **_”Tell me, Adaar. How long did they beat you? How long did they have you shoved down into the mud? Did they rape you too?_** Fake Leliana gasped, smiling. **_”They did, didn’t they?”_**

With an enraged snarl, Pelle leapt at the demon, but it stepped backwards into the shadows, laughing grotesquely. **_”Awe, did that hit a nerve? What else can we find~?”_**

The whip cracked again, and Pelle swore she felt the leather graze her skin. “Stop this!” She shouted over the sound of her own agonizing screams. 

**_”What do you fear, Addar?”_** the demon continued, unperturbed. **_”Oh~! This looks juicy!”_**

Suddenly a figure stepped out of the shadows; it was huge with a giant pair of wide horns and one glowing, red eye. The other was covered by a thick, black eye patch. Pelle stumbled backwards, tripping over a burnt corpse and landed on a nearby pillar. No. Not that. The Iron Bull glowered down at her, all muscles and scars and rage. In his hands he held a saw and a needle, and he looked like he was fully intent on using them. 

**_”How’s this, Adaar?”_** The Iron Bull growled. Pelle felt fear seize her heart. **_”You fear him. He’s Ben-Hassrath, the same kind of man that whipped you; raped you. Dominated you like an animal. He’ll do it again. You know it!”_**

“Shut up!” Pelle screamed, lunging at the visage. She plunged her blade deep into Bull’s side, but he vanished into a wisp of dark smoke and ashes, and a sinister cackle sounded all around her. The sound of it made her want to cover her ears. She didn’t. The pale Qunari’s breath came in quick, ragged gasps as she tried her damndest to calm herself down. This wasn’t real. It was all in her mind. Her head spun and she struggled to not be sick.

“What do you want, demon?” The question was out of her lips before she’d realized that she had said it. This thing was a demon. It had to be. It had gotten in her head.

**_”When I’m done, the Elder one will kill you and ascend… then I will be you.”_** the demon hissed. What in the Void was the Elder one?

“Who or what is this Elder One?” Pelle demanded to the dark green fog. There was silence for a moment, and the demon stepped forward then, another Qunari, but not one Pelle recognized. He had silver skin, just like her, with white, long hair and bright gold eyes. He was taller than her, more built, and he seemed to be a male version of her. He even had the same curling ram like horns. 

**_”He is… between things - mortal once, but no longer.”_** the demon said, drawing near. Pelle couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew that Quanri somehow. No matter how hard she tried to remember, all she drew was a blank. **_”Glory is coming,”_** It continued, drawing closer and closer, **_”And the Elder One wants you to serve him like everyone else; by dying in the right way.”_**

Pelle’s fingers sparked and the demon backed off, its visage warping slightly before regaining itself. “Good luck with that, demon. I’m damn hard to kill.” The Herald snapped, daring it to come any closer. 

Sidestepping, it grinned, twisting the familiar Qunari’s face into a look of malice. **_”We will see, Herald. In the meantime, doesn’t this face look familiar? Wouldn’t you like to hear who this is?”_**

It was true Pelle knew that face, but she couldn’t remember. She was fairly sure she wouldn’t like what the demon had to say about it. And then there was a new voice; sad and quiet. 

“Envy hurts you,” It said, “Is hurting you. I can help. I’ve been hearing, helping... I hope.” 

The demon hissed, retreating back into the swirling mass of green fog. **_”Get out, thing! I am learning!”_**

A small, feeble body stepped out of the mists, wearing an absurd hat over his straw colored hair. His eyes were huge and sad, his mouth downturned. “I’m Cole, and you’re frozen,” It said, “Envy is trying to take your face. I heard it, and now I am here.”

“What do you mean I’m ‘frozen’?” Pelle asked incredulously. 

“Thoughts are fast,” The figure replied, unperturbed, “Much faster than out there. In here: pain. Out there: a blade falls slowly.”

“Does that mean I’m safe in here?” Pelle questioned, eyebrows furrowing, trying to grasp the figure’s odd way of speech.

“No.” Cole said, “It would be good if you got out. Envy is in here.”

“Alright,” The Herald sighed, trying to calm her nerves. “How do I evict everyone else? There must be a way.”

Cole drew closer, his face hidden under the wide brim of his hat. “All of this is Envy; pain, people, places. If you keep going, Envy stretches. Being one person is hard; being two is harder.”

Pelle thinks she understands. If she kept going, she could tire the demon out and get it out of her head. “Great,” she muttered and stepped through the nearby door.

Getting to the top wasn’t easy. There were painful memories in each room, showing her glimpses of her past that the Herald would rather left buried in her head. She fought through the rooms, turning a blind eye to all the things that had wounded her. The Ben-Hassrath. Her parents. The Qun. Up and up she went, climbing stairs until she came to the very top. She didn’t fail to notice that the “top” of her mind resembled the top of the staircase at Therinfal Redoubt. She expected to see some grotesque thing at the top of the stairs, but there was nothing; just her. Suddenly, hands pushed her forward. 

Pelle spun on the spot, only to see a warped, blackened version of herself baring down on her. Pelle’s blade sparked to life, but the demon grabbed her arm painfully.

**_”Unfair! Unfair! You didn’t give in!”_** it shrieked angrily. The hand holding her arm sparked with writhing, green magic. **_”We’ll start again. More pain this time! I’m going to rip you from the inside out!”_**

The Herald struggled, but the demon’s grip was firm. “Fuck you,” She spat. Rearing back, Pelle delivered a crushing head butt to the demon’s face.

It shrieked, releasing her arm. There was a bright burst of light and suddenly Pelle was falling forward onto the stone pavement while the body of some grotesque thing was sent flying through the double wooden doors at Therinfal Redoubt. 

“Herald!” Cassandra’s voice called out in alarm. 

Footsteps pounded on stone behind her, but Pelle was already surging to her feet. With a savage snarl, the Qunari chased after Envy, even as the demon was scrambling backwards to escape her. The Herald forced the demon to the ground with her barrier so hard that she heard some of its bones break and the stone beneath it cracked. She practically leapt onto the things disgusting back, seizing it by the throat with her right hand. The claws in the gauntlet ripped into Envy’s flesh, and the demon screeched in pain.   
“You,” She snarled, eyes wild with rage, “Talk… too much.” With every word she spoke, her right hand sparked more and more, her blade coming out of her clenched fist slowly, sliding right through the demon’s throat.

It didn’t kill the demon; not at first. It burned Envy, searing its flesh. Pelle was able to decide what her blade would cut and what it would not. She wanted this demon to suffer first. With a twist of her wrist, her blade became hazardous, tearing through the demon’s spine as if it where nothing, severing its head and spraying her in dark green blood. With a wrench, Pell ripped Envy’s head off of its body and tossed it to the side somewhere. There was a sudden cry of shock, and then silence fell as Envy’s body vanished beneath her, leaving Pelle crouched in a crater in the stone.

The Qunari stared blankly at the ground, not focusing on anything. Her breathing was rough, strained. Rage still raced through her veins, fueled by her rapidly beating heart. It took her a while to notice that someone was standing close by.

“Herald?” Cassandra’s voice was unusually soft, full of concern. 

Bloodshot eyes rose, pale irises staring silently at the Seeker. Cassandra swallowed. “Easy, you’re among friends here.” 

For a while, Pelle just stared at her, hearing her heart hammering in her ears. Slowly the rage ebbed away, only to be replaced by pain; both physical and emotional. Her blade flickered and vanished with a soft hiss, and she felt her shoulders slump. Every bit of her body hurt; she felt as if she’d been a giant’s play toy for a day. Every breath brought pain to her ribs, and her hand swelled in her gauntlet, pressing painfully into the metal.

Varric walked up next to Cassandra, his face full of worry an apprehension. “Herald,” He murmured, gruff voice gentle, as if he was speaking to a frightened animal, “What happened?”

Pelle’s throat tightened, and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She had to focus on the agony in her hand to keep her eyes from getting misty. White eyelashes flicking down, the Herald looked away.

“You don’t want to know.”


	12. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble brews in Haven, and the Herald is absent.

Nothing could have prepared her for what she had witnessed in the belly of Therinfall Redoubt. Out of everything, what disturbed Cassandra the most was not the corrupted Templars; it was how the Herald chased Envy down like an animal and tore its head off in front of everyone. Everyone. The rage and pain behind those bloodshot eyes had taken her aback. So much, in fact, that she feared the Qunari’s blade would take her next. They’d managed to calm the Herald down, but once she seemed better, the Herald became… flat; distant. She said little, and when she did speak, it was deadpan, far from the sharp, fierce edge she usually possessed.

What had happened to her? To them, Envy presumed the Lord Seeker, merely grasped her for neigh a second before flying backwards. But to her… to the Herald… it could have been different. It could have been an eternity; an eternity in hell.

The Herald kept the order together per her request, leaving them whole and recruiting them as allies instead of ripping them apart and forcing them into their ranks… which she had every right to do. Maker only knew what she went through. Afterwards, the Herald became unresponsive, even as they travelled back to Haven. Cassandra took point, her mind focused on troubled thoughts. She could hear how gently the Herald’s Hart stepped, as if the beast knew of her pain. Cassandra focused on that, trying her best to not let her anger get the better of her. She was angry at the Templars, at the Inquisition… at herself.

Their band was silent the whole way back to the gates. The Iron Bull was quiet, but Cassandra could feel him seething; she could feel his eye roaming behind her, looking at her, at Varric, at the Herald. Even Varric was mute; the dwarf that always moaned about the weather or purposely prodded the Seeker just to get a raise out of her. Everything was silent, all except for the breathing of their horses and the occasional pained rasp escaping from the Heralds' lips when she was jostled in her saddle. The very sound of it pained her to hear. 

It felt like an eternity had passed by the time the weary group made their way through Haven’s open gates. Cassandra dismounted and handed the reins of her horse over to an approaching stable boy. He looked as if he was going to ask her a question, but quickly reconsidered after regarding the dark look lining the Seeker’s features. The boy led her horse away, and Cassandra watched as the Herald rode past her. A sinking feeling settled into her stomach as she watched the Qunari dismount and remove the Hart’s saddle. 

“Herald, leave that to the stable hands,” Cassandra said, approaching the woman warily. “Please. You need rest and medical attention.”

The Herald ignored her. She brushed the Hart herself; she smeared salve over the beast’s wounds before tending to his hooves. With the care of her mount finished, the Herald stepped away, ignoring everyone and everything around her, and walked up Haven’s steps. 

Cassandra followed. “Herald, please. Let us help you.”

Again, the Seeker was met with silence and the Qunari’s broad back. Panic settled deep into Cassandra’s bones. Many would view the alliance with the Templars as a victory for the Inquisition. Cassandra, however, as she watched the Herald step into her house and close the door, could feel the truth. The Herald – their champion – was hanging onto the edge of an abyss. If she were to fall, the world would fall with her.

The Herald did not emerge that day; nor the next.

Cassandra tried many times to get the Herald to come out of her home. The stench of unwashed Qunari was hard to miss, and the scent of blood was noticeable from the door. Cassandra knew that her hand was wounded and that it could only be growing worse. She needed to see a healer, but no matter how hard the Seeker tried, her pleas were met with silence. Josephine tried to lure her out with the promise of a hot bath and food. Servants left food at her door, only for it to remain untouched. Nothing worked. Cassandra was mere seconds from breaking down the door when Varric’s rough voice made her pause.

“Let her be, Seeker.” The dwarf said, undaunted by the Seeker’s scowl. “She will come out in her own time.”

And so she did. Cassandra left the Herald be, and instead focused her energy on her tasks. 

By the third day, the Templars had arrived in Haven. Their presence was met with mixed reactions from all, whether they were a citizen, a soldier, or a mage. Some welcomed them with open arms, while others shunned them or hid completely inside their tents. Cassandra knew that the transition would not be easy, but she hoped… _prayed_ that it worked. It had to work. The inquisition needed the Templars, and in turn, the Templars needed the Inquisition. 

With that said, Cassandra should have known that problems would arise. The first incident was minor; a mere squabble between a few members of the Templar Order and some Haven refugees. Apparently, they had a mage family member that was killed by a Templar. It wasn’t easy, but the Seeker was able to disperse the fight while avoiding bloodshed. Dark eyes scowled after their retreating backs. Gloved hands clenched and released. She needed to get some aggravation out. Stalking up to the training dummies just outside of Haven’s gates. Pulling a blade from a nearby rack, the dark-haired woman set through her usual exercises. 

Seeker Pentaghast often found solitude comforting. It allowed her to gather her thoughts and calm herself; keep a level head. Her solitude to become a Seeker was comforting. Silence was her ally.

So why then, did she feel this way? As her blade cut down the surrounding dummies, she didn’t feel the familiar sense of satisfaction the action usually brought. She was left feeling empty and frustrated. With a disgusted growl, Cassandra threw down her blade.

“Need a sparring partner?” A deep growl of a voice asked behind her. Bull.

This took her by surprise. Usually the mercenary captain kept either to his tent or the tavern. He wasn’t known to wander Haven. Dark eyes focused on him.

“I do not believe that will help,” She ground out.

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe it’ll feel better if you’re hitting a live target.” He replied easily, grabbing a nearby shield and holding it properly. “Come on. Work some of that tension out.”

Sighing, Cassandra relented. Stooping down, she retrieved her sword from the frozen ground. “Wouldn’t you rather be drinking, Qunari?” Her voice was far from kind.

“Didn’t feel like it,” He shrugged.

Cassandra scoffed, spinning her blade once and gripping it tightly. “You always feel like drinking.”

Bull laughed at this, a deep, hearty laugh that tilted his head back and everything. “You got me, Seeker. Alright. I figured you could use a hand.”

Cassandra lunged, striking at Bull with a serious of blows. The massive Qunari held his ground, blocking her assault. She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t more satisfying to hit a living target.

“And why would you think that?” She questioned, circling him.

He followed her, keeping the shield up front. “You seem to be taking this rather hard.”

“I am not!” Cassandra responded more sharply than she intended. The Iron Bull regarded her with his good eye, and she scowled.

“Right,” Bull mused.

Cassandra assaulted him again, putting every ounce of her strength into each blow inflicted upon the wooden shield. The lumbering warrior took it all, blocking each with nothing more than a grunt and a grin. After her rampage ended, he grew a bit more serious.

“Any word of the Herald?”

Cassandra felt frustration curl in her stomach. “No,” She murmured, angry. “She refuses to come out. Any attempt to speak to her is met with silence. She hasn’t eaten in days… or bathed. You can smell her from her door.” Bull didn’t say anything, and Cassandra found herself continuing, her voice growing louder with each word. “She’s wounded, but she won’t let anyone help her. The Templars have arrived and yet she still hides like a child!”

Cassandra stopped, her hand rising to cover her mouth. She was ashamed of herself. How could she say something like that about the Herald? She had no idea how the Qunari felt. She had no right to judge.

“Forget I said anything.” Cassandra commanded, scowling at Bull. He remained quiet for some time before turning and placing the battered shield back on the rack. 

“She is not a child,” Bull replied quietly. “I think she is merely taking time to adjust to what she experienced; whatever it was.” Cassandra had the decency to look guilty, but didn’t respond. So, he continued. “She comes from a different world than you. She’s probably accustomed to fending for herself, never able to trust or rely on others. Perhaps her trust has been misplaced before. Either way, it is going to take time before she can let others in, if she’s capable at all.”

Cassandra placed her blade back into the rack. “I know this is true.” She replied, turning to him. “It’s just so damn frustrating when your help is refused.” 

Bull chuckled lowly, “Well, if there’s one thing about Qunari you should know, it’s that we’re stubborn bastards.”

A smile threatened to touch the edge of her mouth, but she suppressed it. Suddenly a scout was running up to her, eyes wide, breath short.

“Seeker!” The scout exclaimed, coming to a stop beside her and preforming a haphazard salute.

“What is it?” She asked, “Report!”

“There’s a brawl starting in Haven! A group of Templars have Solas cornered!” 

This made adrenalin surge through her veins. Cassandra had feared that this would happen. “With me!” She ordered, running through the gates.

Solas was standing just outside the Apothecary, his back against the nearby building. He had no staff, his hands up in a form of peace. Four Templars surrounded him, blades drawn.

“Do you admit to these crimes, mage?” One was demanding, his blade mere inches from the elf’s chest. 

“I’ve done nothing,” Solas responded firmly but calmly, cold eyes hard. “You are mistaken.”

“Lies!” The Templar snapped, moving forward.

“Stop! Now!” Cassandra ordered, her voice demanding obedience. She grabbed one of the Templar’s by the pauldron and yanked him back.

“This mage is guilty of heinous crimes!” The Templar snapped back, wrenching out of her grasp, “You would deny us our duty!?”

“Yes!” Cassandra snarled back, grabbing him again. “You are mistaken! Stand down now!”

The Templar struck her, a gauntlet to her cheek. Pain flared across her face and she felt her lip split. Blood pooled into her mouth.

“Cassandra!” Solas’ voice rang out.

“Shut up Mage-!”

“Stop!” A new voice joined the chaos. It was a voice Cassandra recognized, even through the haze in her mind. It had a weight to it none other had, and the anger behind it felt so intense that it’d burn you. “Now!”

Turning, Cassandra saw her, and felt a deep sense of pride stiffen her spine, even through the pain in her cheek. 

The Herald stood there, anger on her features. She looked like hell. Her eyes were bloodshot. Dark circles sat under her eyes. Her hair was wild, caught in her horns and strewn across her face. She was filthy, covered head to toe in dark blood from her encounter with Envy days past. Her teeth were bared, lips dry and cracked open – bleeding. When the Templars didn’t obey immediately, the pale Qunari’s blade appeared with a sudden roar of magic.

“I said,” She growled low, her voice laced with venom, “Stop. Now.” 

The Templars backed away immediately, lowering their heads, and the Herald turned her attention to Cassandra.

“Which one hit you?” 

The question demanded an answer. Cassandra hesitated at first, momentarily concerned what the Qunari Mage would do once she found out.

“That one,” The Seeker responded, pointing to the doomed Templar.

Just in time, Inquisition soldiers stormed forward, much too late to stop the fight, but useful anyway. 

“Take him to the cells.” The Herald ordered, her blade vanishing with a hiss. “Lock him up.” Pale eyes turned to the rest of the Templars stepping away from Solas. “If you brandish your sword at another member of the Inquisition, I will come after you, and you will join your comrade in chains.” The Herald glared at them. “We have no use for mindless brutes. Am I understood?!”

The Templars visibly flinched, bowing their heads. “Yes, Herald.” They said at different times, but it seemed to satisfy her. 

Inquisition soldiers seized the Templar in question and dragged him away, and the others split off. Solas vanished into his house. Once all was clear, Cassandra could’ve sworn she saw the Herald wince. 

“Are you alright, Seeker?” The Qunari questioned her. 

“I will be fine.” Cassandra responded. “I should ask you the same. You look like you got into a fight with a grizzly bear and lost.” 

A whisper of a laugh came from the Herald, and a small smirk ghosted across Cassandra’s face.

“Come on,” The Seeker offered, “I can tell you need a healer.”

A moment of silence passed and the Herald crinkled her nose. “And a bath.”

Somehow, hearing those words soothed Cassandra’s unease. “I think I can help with that,” She responded. “Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I should skip what happened to Pelle inside her house, or to write a chapter on it.
> 
> Let me know what you think.


End file.
